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Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks. 



Part II., May, 1888, to October, 1888. 




I Walter Campbell 532 


Adventure with a Man-eater, An. (Illustrated by F. H. Schell and 
others) . 

Advice of Miss Alcott, The John Presto7i True 545 

Aimee. (Illustrated by F. H. Lungren) Mary E. Vandyne 650 

Alcott, Louisa May. (Illustrated) Louise Chandler Mmilton. .. 624 

Alcott, The Advice of Miss John Preston True 545 

All A-blowing. Poem Kate M. Cleary 814 

Another Indian Doll. (Illustrated) L. A. Higgins 773 

Aztec Fragment, An. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 762 

Baby's Creed. Verses Charles H. Ltigrin 932 

Ballad of the Nautilus. Poem. (Illustrated by Irving R. Wiles) E. Cavazza 649 

Bell-buoy's Story, The. (Illustrated by A. B. Davies) Lucy G. Morse 755 

Between Two Little Robbers. Picture 752 

Bilged Midshipman, The. (Illustrated by W. de Meza) Thomas A. Janvier 922 

Bill of Fare for June, A. Picture, drawn by Margaret Johnson 613 

Bill of Fare for July, A. Picture, drawn by Margaret Johnson 673 

Bill of Fare for September, A. Picture, drawn by Margaret Johnson 813 

Boating. (By a Young Contributor) Eric Palmer 554 

Bobolink's Song, The. Verses Emilie Poulsson 595 

Bob White. Poem Dora Read Goodale 763 

Boy Bears, The. (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) William O. Stoddard 887 

Broken Adrift. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards and others) Charles Barnard 840 

Brownies in the Orchard, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) . Palmer Cox - 954 

Brownies' Kites, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 704 

Butterfly's Cousins, The. Poem. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards) Amelie Rives 570 

By Proxy. Jingle. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch) A. R. Wells 531 

Caterina and her Fate. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) E. Cavazza 589 

Cat's-CRADLE. (Illustrated- by Jessie Curtis Shepherd and Culmer Barnes) ... Celia Thaxter 582 

Child Josef Hofmann, The. (Illustrated) Emily L. Price 536 

Children and Authors. (Illustrated by Harper Pennington) William H. Rideing 744 

Child-sketches from George Eliot. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Julia Magruder. 

Tom and Maggie Tulliver 604, 657 

Chinese Market, A. (Illustrated) Yan Phou Lee 546 

Chinese Story, A. Verses. (See page 958) W.J. Bahmer 839 

Circumvention. Verses Rev. Charles R. Talbot. ... 827 

Civilized King and the Semi-barbarous Giant, The. (Illustrated) Helen Gray Cone 917 

Compromise, A. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) A.R.Wells 832 

Corks, What to Do with Old. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles G. Leland 866 

Dear Dolls, The. (Illustrated) -...Olive Thome Miller 771 




Decorative Head-piece. Drawn by H. L. Bridwell 546 

Decorative Tail-pieces. Drawn by H. L. Bridwell 581, 678 

Dick's Farm Hand. (Illustrated by H. W. Hall) Antia S. Reed 828 

Dogs of Noted Americans. (Illustrated) GertrudeVan R.Wickhani.'^qCj,6']'^ 

General Garfield's Dog — General Robert E. Lee's Dog — Edward Eggleston's Dog — John G. Whittier's 

Dogs — Constance F. Woolson's Dogs — The Dogs of Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, 595; John 

Burroughs's Dogs — T. B. Aldrich's Dog — Frank R. Stockton's Dog, 673. 

Drill: A Story of School-boy Life. (Illustrated by F. T. Merrill) John Preston True. 538, 618,679 

Duke's Jest, The. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Alargaret Johnson 492 

Eavesdropper, An. Verses. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) Anna M. Pratt 822 

Envious Baby, An. Picture, from a photograph by James Mapes Dodge 894 

Floating Home, A. (Illustrated) Edtnund IVi/son 913 

For Their Country's Sake. (Illustrated by H. Sandham) Mrs. C. Emma Cheney 700 

From House to House. (Illustrated by A. B. Davies) Jessie C. Glasicr 894 

Fun for the Fishes. Picture, drawn by A. L. Brenon 831 

Ginseng-hunting. (Illustrated by A. C. Warren and C. A. Fries) John Burrotiglis 518 

Girard College. (Illustrated by Harry Fenn) Alice Maude Fenn 509 

Great Man of the Family, The. (Illustrated by Harper Pennington) . . . .Mary W. Porter 934 

Great Show, A. (Illustrated by E. H. Blashfield) Prof. Alfred Church 563 

Grommet-pitching, The Game of. (Illustrated) C. W. Miller 634 

Hofmann, Little Josef Mary Lang 535 

"Ho, for Slumberland ! " Poem Eben E. Rexford 729 

Hot Weather Babies. Picture, drawn by Jessie W. Smith 718 

„ ,,,, 1 , T T, TT 1 N < Words by yJ/arj' 7. yairya^j-. t 548 

Housekeeping Songs. (Illustrated by Miss L. B. Humphrey) < . , ^ rr , t ^ or \ 

^ ( Music by Theresa C. Holmes S 627, 864, 948 

How a Little Boy Camped Our. (Illustrated by Arthur J. Goodman) . . . .Emily H. Lela7td 950 

How Some Birds are Cared For. (Illustrated by Lina Beard and olhtvs). Charles Frederick Holder. . 851 

"I Had a Little Yellow Bird." Jingle. (Illustrated by Geo. R. Y{z\m) . E. E. Sterns 861 

Interrupted Little Boy, The De W. C. Lockwood 629 

In the Swing. Poem. (Illustrated) Eiidora S. Bumstead 628 

Japanese Lullaby Song, A. (Illustrated) A. V. R. Easilake 714 

Jingles 531, 551, 600, 614, 738, 762, 861 

July Day, A. Poem Margaret Deland 656 

Kind-hearted Puss, A. ( Illustrated from a photograph) 630 

King's Dwarf and his Dog, The. Picture 944 

Knot-holes. (Illustrative head-piece by Harry C. Edwards) Estclle Thotnson 819 

Lady Daffodil. Poem Mary E. Sha7-pe 530 

Lioness of Senegal, A. Picture 862 

Little Ike Templin. (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) Richard Malcolm Johnston . 749 

833. 945 

Little Josef Hofmann Mary Lang 535 

Little Moccasin's Ride on the Thundek-horse. (Illustrated by H. F. 


Little Moon, The. Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed by R. B. Birch). . . .Bessie Chandler 491 

Little Rosalie. (Illustrated by W. L. Taylor) JIatriet Prescott Spofford . . . . 494 

Little Six, The Story of the Eugene M. Camp 706 

Louisa May Alcott. (Illustrated) Louise Chandler Moulton ... 624 

Madame Arachne. (Illustrated by A. B. Davies) Celia Thaxter 521 

May-day. Verses. (Illustrated by F. Opper) E7nma A. Opper 544 

Mexican Dog's Soliloquy, A. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) C. It". Sumner 600 

Mischievous Knix, The. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Langdon E. Mitchell 856 

Morning-glories. Poem - Isaac Herr 686 

Mother is "Goal." Poem Mary B. Bruce 502 

Moving Story, A. (Illustrated by A. B. Davies) Sophie Sivett 503 

Mr. Crowley. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch and J. C. Beard) Charles Henry Webb 739 

Mystic Sign, The. Poem Eudora S. Bumstead 904 

Namesake, A. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) T. D. Wright 615 

Col. Guido Ilges 765 



Naturalist, The. Verses M. C. B 636 

Naval Academy, Recollections of the. (Illustrated by the Author) H. Abert Johnson 690 

Observing Little Things. (Illustrated) John Burroughs 763 

October Woods. Picture, drawn by Charles P. Sears 910 

Old Dick. Poem .Mary Bradley 794 

Our Five O'clock Tea. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Isabel F. Bellows 933 

Pampered Poodle, The. Verses. (Illustrated by A. L. Brenon) Joel Stacy 863 

Parade, The. Verses Tudor Jenks 703 

Pictures 502, 530, 543, 553, 558, 613, 618, 635, 673, 687, 715, 718, 729, 752, 770, 793, 794, 813, 818, 831 

862, 894, 910, 944, 953 

Pictures for Little French Readers 530 

Pictures for Little German Readers 618, 729, 818 

Pig that Really Caused a War, A. (Illustrated) Willis J. Abbot 686 

Pintail, The. (Illustrated by the Author) Ernest E. Thompson 826 

Practical Advice. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) 554 

Prince Oleg's Destiny. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Henry Tyrrell 516 

" Prompting 's Not Fair." Picture, drawn by H. A. Ogden 543 

Quest, The. Poem. (Illustrated) Eudora S. Buwstead 743 

Rabbit Hunters, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) J. G. Francis 614 

Rain. Poem Margaret Deland 921 

Ramabai. (Illustrated) Mary L. 8. Branch 785 

Ran Away to Home. (Illustrated by H. W. Hall) Noah Brooks 525 

Recollections of the Naval Academy. (Illustrated by the Author) .. .H. Abert Johnson 690 

Report Concerning the " King's Move Puzzle." 798 

Rhyme for Little Folks, A. Verses Kate M. Cleary 949 

Rhyme of the Gowns, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) C. McCormack Rogers 775 

Riches and Poverty G. A. Wood 549 

Ringing In the Fourth. (Illustrated by W. II. Drake) ., Huldah Motgan 666 

Rob's Letter. Picture, drawn by Isabel McDougal 635 

Rodney's Ride. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Elbridge S. Brooks 688 

Roman Man-o'-War's Man, A. (Illustrated by J. O. Davidson) Elbridge S. Brooks 753 

Safe. Picture, from a photograph 715 

Scent of Dogs, The Theo. B. Willson 874 

School Legend, A Edward R. Shaiv 875 

Sea-gulls — from the Light-house. (Illustrated by Harry Fenn and > 

Ernest E. Thompson) \ ^"'"^ ^y''^"" ^^4 

Sea-serpent, The Story OF the. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards and others) Edward I. Steuenson 723 

Selfish Cat, A. Picture, drawn by F. Bellew 558 

Shadow- pantomimes. (Illustrated) Herman H. Birney 786 

Small and Select May Party, A. Picture, drawn by A. Brenon 502 

Somebody. Verses. (Illustrated) Maria J. Ha??i?nond 951 

Some Stories About the "California Lion." (Illustrated byF. Reming- 
ton and others) ' 

Soul of a Butterfly, The. Poem T. W. Higginson 883 

Story of the Little Six, The . Eugene M. Camp 706 

Story of the Sea-serpent, The. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards and o\\\%x%) . Edward I. Steve7ison 723 

Summer Boarders. Picture, drawn by C. F. Seidle 794 

Summer Homes for the Animals. Verses Robert U. Johnson 700 

Summer Idyl, A. Verses Henry Moore 715 

Sunshine Land. Poem Edith M. Thomas 803 

Sweet Peas. Jingle. (Illustrated by the Author) .. Lizbcth B. Comins 738 

Tea. (Illustrated by A. L. Brenon) E. H. Libby 929 

"The Men who Died." (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) Ruth Hays 601 

Tilting. Verses. (Illustrated from a photograph) A. De F. L 865 

Tom and Maggie Tulliver. ("Child-sketches from George Eliot") Jjilia Magruder 604, 657 

Tom, Dick, and Harry on the Coast of Maine. (Illustrated bythe Author). C. Beard 776 

To My Boy — on Decoration Day. Verses Alice Wellington Rollins.... 520 

E. P. Roe 814 




Two Little Confederates. (Illustrated by A. C. Redwood, E. W. Kemble, i Thomas Nelson Page 483 

and others \ 571, 643, 730, 804, 904 

Two Little Old Ladies. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) H. Maud Merrill 943 

Two Little Roses. Poem Julia P. Ballard 617 

Two Old-fashioned Dolls. (Illustrated) 774 

Views on Lake George. Picture, drawn by J. H. Cocks , 687 

Water-ousels' Address, The. Poem. (Illustrated) Henry Tyrrell 849 

Watseka. (Illustrated by A. B. Davies) John Di?nitry 910 

What Dora Did. (Illustrated by Harper Pennington) Mrs. M. P. Handy 823 

What to Do with Old Corks. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles G. Leland 866 

Wild Pea-fowls in British India. (Illustrated) Thomas Stevens 837 

Wrapping Parcels Without String. (Illustrated) Julian Ralph 795 

Young Agassiz, A. Picture, drawn by A. B. Davies 770 

Young Timothy-grass and Forget-me-nots. Poem Estelle Thomson 614 


For Very Little Folk. (Illustrated. 

The Story of the Morning-glory Seed Margaret Eytinge 550 

"Five Little Maidens." Jingle Jessie IV. Smith 551 

One Little Shoe Amy E. Blanchard 551 

About Bebe and her New Doll 631 

The Toad and the Fireworks Margaret Eytinge 709 

Plays and Music. 

Housekeeping Songs. (Illustrated by Miss L. B. Humphrey^ ■ • • ^ Woids by Mary J. Jacques } 

I Music by Theresa C. Holmes ^ 

Drying and Ironing . . 54S 

Kneading Bread 627 

Clear-starching 864 

Washing Dishes . 948 

Shadow-pantomimes. (Illustrated) Herman FI. Birney 786 

Jack-in-the-Pulpit. (Illustrated.) 

Introduction — A Puzzling Question — Arbor Days — Who Can Answer This? — Waking the Branches — 
Henry of Blois — A Rival of Bruce's Spider — A Persistent Wren — The Wren Architects — Going for a 
Swim (picture), 552; Introduction — .Spring Fashions — The Terrible Mygale — A Strange Mirror — A New 
Kind of Mouse-trap — Picnic Prisoners — Society Cows — The Toad's New Suit — A Watch-dog Battalion — 
A Fable (illustrated), 632 ; Introduction — The Arbutus in Trouble — Have You Seen Him? — How to Write 
on Ice with Ink — Niagara Let Loose — Long Lives and Short Lives — The Origin of a Few Well-known 
Names — Independence Day in F'airyland — Rather Contradictory, 712 ; Introduction — Flowers that Blow 
Their Own Trumpets — How the Potato was Introduced into France — Bears in Pennsylvania — What is 
Rosewood? — Grapes and Roses — The Arbutus Again — Blue Anemones — The Fisherman's Daughter 
(picture), 792; Introduction — Reveries of an Apple — The Difference Between a Fruit and a Vegetable — 
Dear Little Rabbits! — Too Many Crickets — The Stormy-petrel — A Serpent in the Rock — More About 
Henry of Blois — Searching Questions — The Egg as a Top — A Golden Nest, 872 ; Introduction — .\ Puzzling 
Visit — Was It the Sea-serpent? — Blue .Anemones —The Watch-dog Battalion — " Bound" is Right — Baby's 
Last Day on the Sands (picture), 952. 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 556,636, 716, 796,876,956 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 559, 639, 719, 799, 879, 959 

Editorial Notes 796> 95^ 


" Violets, Sweet Violets ! " from a photograph of the painting by Edward Tayler, facing Title-page of Volume — 
" It was a Splendid Sight when the Gladiators came Marching In," by E. H. Blashfield, facing page 563 — 
"Ringing In the Fourth," by W. H. Drake, facing page 643 — "In the Park," by F. H. Lungren, facing 
page 723 — " If a Body Meet a Body ? " by Frank Russell Green, facing page 803 — " The First Minuet," by 
F. H. Lungren, facing page 883. 


Vol. XV. 

MAY, 1888, 

No. 7. 

By Thomas Nelson Page. 

Chapter I. 

HE " Two Little Confederates" 
lived at Oakland. It was not 
a very handsome place, as 
modern ideas go, but down in 
Old Virginia, where the stand- 
ard was different from the 
later one, it passed in old times 
as one of the best plantations 
in all that region. The boys thought it the greatest 
place in the world, of course excepting Richmond, 
where they had been one year to the fair, and had 
seen a man pull fire out of his mouth, and do 
other wonderful things. It was quite secluded. It 
lay, it is true, right between two of the county 
roads, the Court-house Road being on one side, 
and on the other the great " Mountain Road," 
down which the large covered wagons with six 
horses and jingling bells used to go ; but the lodge 
lay this side of the one, and " the big woods," 
where the boys shot squirrels, and hunted 'possums 
and coons, and which reached to the edge of 
" Holetown," stretched between the house and 
the other, so that the big gate-post where the 
semi-weekly mail was left by the mail-rider each 
Tuesday and Friday afternoon was a long walk, 
even by the near cut through the woods. The rail- 
road was ten miles away by the road. There was 
a nearer way, only about half the distance, by 
which the negroes used to walk, and which dur- 
ing the war, after all the horses were gone the boys, 
too, learned to travel; but before that, the road 

by Trinity Church and Honeyman's Bridge was 
the only route, and the other was simply a dim 
ijridle-path, and the " horseshoe ford" was known 
to the initiated alone. 

The mansion itself was known on the plantation 
as "the gret house," to distinguish it from all the 
other houses on the place, of which there were 
many. It had as many wings as the angels in 
the vision of Ezekiel. 

These additions had been made, some in one 
generation, some in another, as the size of the 
family required ; and finally, when there was no 
side of the original building to which another wing 
could be joined, a separate building had been 
erected on the edge of the yard, which was called 
"The Office," and was used as such, as well as 
for a lodging-place by the young men of the 
family. The privilege of sleeping in the Office 
was highly esteemed, for, like the toga virilis, it 
marked the entrance upon manhood of the y ouths 
who were fortunate enough to enjoy it. There 
smoking was admissible, there the guns were kept 
in the corner, and there the dogs were allowed to 
sleep at the feet of their young masters, or in bed 
with them, if they preferred it. 

In one of the rooms in this building the boys went 
to school whilst small, and another they looked for- 
ward to having as their own when they should be 
old enough to be thought worthy of the dignity of 
sleeping in the Office. Hugh already slept there, 
and gave himself airs in proportion ; but Hugh 
they regarded as a very aged person ; not as old, 
it was true, as their cousins who came down from 

Copyright, 1888, by The Centi ry Co. All rights reserved. 




college at Christmas, and who, at the first out- 
break of war, all rushed into the army ; but each 
of these was in the boys' eyes a Methuselah. Hugh 
had his own horse and the double-barrelled gun, 
and when a fellow got those there was little ma- 
terial difference between him and other men, even 
if he did have to go to the academy, — which was 
really something like going to school. 

The boys were Frank and Willy ; Frank being 
the eldest. They went by several names on the 
place. Their mother called them her " little men," 
with much pride ; Uncle Balla spoke of them as 
"them chillern," which generally implied some- 
thing of reproach ; and Lucy Ann, who had been 
taken into the house to "run after" them when 
they were little boys, always coupled their names 
as "Frank 'n' Willy." Peter and Cole did the 
same when their mistress was not by. 

When there first began to be talk at Oakland 
about the war, the boys thought it would be a dread- 
ful thing ; their principal ideas about war being 
formed from an intimate acquaintance with the 
Bible and its accounts of the wars of the Children 
of Israel, in which men, women and children were 
invariably put to the sword. This gave a vivid 
conception of its horrors. 

One evening, in the midst of a discussion about 
the approaching crisis, Willy astonished the com- 
pany, who were discussing the merits of the prob- 
able leaders of the Union armies, by suddenly 
announcing that he 'd " bet they did n't have any 
general who could beat Joab." 

Up to the time of the war the boys had led a 
very uneventful, but a very pleasant life. They 
used to go hunting with Hugh, their older brother, 
when he would let them go, and after the cows 
with Peter and Cole. Old Balla, the driver, was 
their boon comrade and adviser, and taught them 
to make whips, and traps for hares and birds, as 
he had taught them to ride and to cobble shoes. 

He lived alone (his wile had been set free years 
before, and lived in Philadelphia). His room over 
"the old kitchen" was the boys' play-room when 
he would permit them to come in. There were so 
many odds and ends in it ! 

Then the boys played blindman's-buff in the 
house, or hide-and-seek about the yard or garden, 
or upstairs in their den, a narrow alcove at the 
top of the house. The little willow- shadowed 
creek, that ran through the meadow behind the 
l)arn, was one of their haunts. They fished in it 
for minnows and little perch ; they made dams and 
bathed in it; and sometimes they played pirates 
upon its waters. 

Once they made an extended search up and 
down its banks for any fragments of Pharaoh's 
chariots which might have been washed up so 

higlr; but that was when they were younger and 
did not have much sense. 

Chapter II. 

There was great 
excitement during the 
John Brown raid, and 
the good grandmother 
used to pray for him 
and Cook, whose pic- 
tures were in the 

The boys became 
soldiers, and diilled 
punctiliously with 
guns which they got 
Uncle Balla to make 
for them. Frank was 
the captain, Willy the 
■■ first lieutenant, and 

^^/%e^ J a dozen or more little 

i- - i; negroes composed the 

rank and file, Peter and 
Cole being trusted file-closers. 
A little later they found their 
sympathies all on the side of peace and the pres- 
ervation of the Union. Their uncle was for keep- 
mg the Union unbroken, and ran for the Con- 
vention against Colonel Richards, who was the 
chief officer of the militia in the county, and was 
as Ijlood-thirsty as Tamerlane, who reared the pyr- 
amid of skulls, and as hungry for military renown 
as the great Napoleon. 

There was immense excitement in the county 
over the election. Though the boys' mother had 
made them add to their prayers a petition that 
their Uncle William might win, and that he might 
secure the blessings of peace ; and, though at 
family prayers, night and morning, the same peti- 
tion was presented, the boys' uncle was beaten at 
the polls by a large majority. And then they 
knew there was bound to be war, and that it 
must be very wicked. They almost felt the "in- 
vader's heel," and the invaders were invariably 
spoken of as "cruel," and the heel was described 
as of " iron," and was always mentioned as engaged 
in the act of crushing. They would have been terri- 
bly alarmed at this cruel invasion had they not been 
re-assured by the general belief of the community 
that one Southerner could whip ten Yankees, and 
that, collectively, the South could drive back the 
North with popguns. When the war actually broke 
out, the boys were the most enthusiastic of rebels, 
and the troops in Camp Lee did not drill more 
continuously nor industriously. 

Their father, who had been a Whig and opposed 



secession until the very last, on Virginia's seced- 
ing, finally cast his lot with his people, and 
joined an infantry company ; and Uncle William 
raised and equipped an artillery company, of 
which he was chosen captain ; but the infantry 
was too tame and the artillery too ponderous to 
suit the boys. 

They were taken to see the drill of the county 
troop of cavalry, with its prancing horses and 
clanging sabers. It was commanded by a cousin ; 
and from that moment they were cavalrymen to 
the core. They flung away their stick-guns in 
disgust ; and Uncle Balla spent two grumbling 
days fashioning them a stableful of horses with 
real heads and " sure 'nough " leather bridles. 

Once, indeed, a secret attempt was made to 
utilize the horses and mules which were running 
in the back pasture ; but a premature discovery 
of the scheme ended in such disaster to all con- 
cerned that the plan was abandoned, and the boys 
had to content themselves with their wooden steeds. 

The day that the final orders came for their 
father and uncle to go to Rich- 
mond, — from which point they 
were ordered to " the Pcnmsula," 
— the boys could not understand . 
why every one was suddenly V, 
plunged mto such distress. Then, : ' 

next mornmg, when the soldiers 
left, the bovs could not altogether 
comprehend it. They thought it 
was a very fine thing to be allowed 

with pride the two glittering sabers which he 
had allowed no one but himself to polish, that 
" Ef them Britishers jes sees dese swodes dee '11 
run ! " The boys tried to explain to him that these 
were not British, but Yankees, — but he was hard 
to convince. Even Lucy Ann, who was incurably 
afraid of everything like a gun or fire-arm, partook 
of the general fervor, and boasted effusively 
that she had actually " tetched " Marse John's 
big " pistils." 

Hugh, who was fifteen, and was permitted to 
accompany his father to Richmond, was regarded 
by the boys with a feeling of mingled envy and 
veneration, which he accepted with dignified 

Frank and Willy soon found that war brought 
some immunities. The house filled up so with 
the families of cousins and friends who were refu- 
gees that the boys were obliged to sleep in the 
Office, and thus they felt that, at a bound, they 
were almost as old as Hugh. 

There were the cousins from (Gloucester, from 


to ride Frank and Hun, the two war-horses, with 
their new, deep, army saddles and long bits. They 
cried when their father and uncle said good-bye, and 
went away; but it was because their mother looked 
so pale and ill, and not because they did not think 
it was all grand. They had no doubt that all 
would come back soon, for old Uncle Billy, the 
" head-man," who had been born down in " Little 
York," where Cornwallis surrendered, had ex- 
pressed the sentiment of the whole plantation 
when he declared, as he sat in the back yard sur- 
rounded by an admiring throng, and surveyed 

the Valley, and families of relatives from Baltimore 
and New York, who had come south on the dec- 
laration of war. Their favorite was their cousin 
Belle, whose beauty at once captivated both 
boys. This was the first time that the boys ever 
knew anything of girls, except their own sister, 
Evelyn ; and after a brief period, during which 
the novelty gave them pleasure, the inability 
of the girls to hunt, or climb trees, or play 
knucks, etc., and the additional restraint which 
their presence imposed, caused them to hold the 
opinion that " girls were no good." 




Chapter IIL 

course of time they saw a great 
deal of "the army," — which 
meant the Confederates. The 
idea that the Yankees could 
ever get to Oakland never 
entered any one's head. It 
was understood that the ar- 
my lay between us and them, 
and surely they could never 
get by the innumerable sol- 
diers who were always pass- 
ing up one road or the other, 
and who, day after day and 
night after night, were com- 
ing to be fed, and were rapidly eating up every- 
thing that had been left on the place. They 
had been coming so long now that they made 
scarcely any difference ; but the first time a regi- 
ment camped in the neighborhood it created great 

It became known one night that a cavalry regi- 
ment, in which were several of their cousins, was 
camped at Honeyman's Bridge, and the boys' 
mother determined to send a supply of provisions 
for the camp next morning; so several sheep were 
killed, the smoke-house was opened, and all night 
long the great fires in the kitchen and wash-house 
glowed ; and even then there was not room, so that 
a big fire was kindled in the back yard, beside 
which saddles of mutton were roasted in the tin 
kitchens. Everybody was "rushing." 

The boys were told that they might go to see 
the soldiers, and as they had to get off long before 
daylight, they went to bed early, and left all " the 
other boys" — that is, Peter and Cole and other 
colored children — squatting about the fires and 
trying to help the cooks to pile on wood. 

It was hard to leave the exciting scene. 

They were very sleepy the next mornin g ; indeed, 
they seemed scarcely to have fallen asleep when 
Lucy Ann shook them ; but they jumped up with- 
out the usual application of cold water in their 
faces, which Lucy Ann so delighted to make ; 
and in a little while they were out in the yard, 
where Balla was standing holding three horses, — 
their mother's riding-horse; another with aside- 
saddle for their Cousin Belle, whose brother was in 
the regiment ; and one for himself, — and Peter and 
Cole were holding the carriage-horses for the boys, 
and several other men were holding mules. 

Great hampers covered with white napkins, were 
on the porch, and the savory smell decided the 
boys not to eat their breakfast, but to wait and 
take their share with the soldiers. 

The roads were so bad that the carriage could 

not go ; and as the boys' mother wished to get the 
provisions to the soldiers before they broke camp, 
they had to set out at once. In a few minutes 
they were all in the saddle, the boys and their 
mother and Cousin Belle in front, and Balla and 
the other servants following close behind, each 
holding before him a hamper, which looked queer 
and shadowy as they rode on in the darkness. 

The sky, which was filled with stars when they 
set out, grew white as they splashed along mile 
after mile through the mud. Then the road became 
clearer; they could see into the woods, and the 
sky changed to a rich pink, like the color of peach- 
blossoms. Their horses were covered with mud up 
to the saddle-skirts. They turned into a lane only 
half a mile from the bridge, and, suddenly, a bugle 
rang out down in the wooded bottom below them, 
and the boys hardly could be kept from putting 
their horses to a run, so fearful were they that the 
soldiers were leaving, and that they should not see 
them. Their mother, however, told them that this 
was probably the reveille, or "rising-bell," of the 
soldiers. She rode on at a good sharp canter, and 
the boys were diverting themselves over a discussion 
as to who would act the part of Lucy Ann in waking 
the regiment of soldiers, when they turned a curve, 
and at the end of the road, a few hundred yards 
ahead, stood several horsemen. 

" There they are," exclaimed both boys. 

" No, that is a picket," said their mother ; " gal- 
lop on, Frank, and tell them we are bringing 
breakfast for the regiment." 

Frank dashed ahead, and soon they saw a sol- 
dier ride forward to meet him, and, after a few 
words, return with him to his comrades. Then, 
while they were still a hundred yards distant, 
they saw Frank, who had received some direc- 
tions, start off again toward the bridge, at a hard 
gallop. The picket had told him to go straight 
on down the hill, and he would find the camp just 
the other side of the bridge. He accordingly rode 
on, feeling very important at being allowed to go 
alone to the camp on such a mission. 

As he reached a turn in the road, just above the 
river, the whole regiment lay swarming below him 
among the large trees on the bank of the little 
stream. The horses were picketed to bushes and 
stakes, in longrows, the saddles lying on the ground, 
not for off ; and hundreds of men were moving 
about, some in full uniform and others without 
coat or vest. A half-dozen wagons with sheets on 
them stood on one side among the trees, near 
which several fires were smoking, with men around 

As Frank clattered up to the bridge, a soldier 
with a gun on his arm, who had been standing by 
the railing, walked out to the middle of the bridge. 




"Halt! Where are you going in such a hurry, 
my young man? " he said. 

" I wish to see the colonel," said Frank, repeat- 
ing as nearly as he could the words the picket had 
told him. 

" What do you v. ant with him ? " 

Frank was tempted not to tell him; but he was 
so impatient to deliver his message before the others 
should arrive, that he told him what he had come 

"There he is," said the sentinel, pointing to a 
place among the trees where stood at least five 
hundred men. 

Frank looked, expecting to recognize the colonel 
by his noble bearing, or splendid uniform, or some 
striking marks. 

"Where?" he asked, in doubt; for while a 
number of the men were in 
uniform, he knew these to be 

"There," said the sentry, 
pointing; "by that stump, 
near the yellow horse-blanket." 

Frank looked again. The 
only man he could fix upon 
by the description was a young 
fellow washing his face in a 
tin basin, and he felt this could 
not be the colonel; but he did 
not like to appear dull, so he 
thanked the man and rode 
on, thinking he would go to 
the point indicated, and ask 
some one else to show him the 

He felt quite grand as he 
rode in among the men, who, 
he thought, would recognize 
his importance and treat him 
accordingly; but, as he rode 
on, instead of paying him the 
respect he had expected, they 
began to guy him with all sorts of questions. 

"Hello, bud, going to jine the cavalry?" asked 
one. "Which is oldest; you or your horse?" 
inquired another. 

"How's Pa — and Ma?" "Does your mother 
know you're out?" asked others. One soldier 
walked up, and, putting his hand on the bridle, 
proceeded affably to ask him after his health, and 
that of every member of his family. At first, Frank 
did not understand that they were making fun of 
him, but it dawned on him when the man asked 
him solemnly : 

"Are there any Yankees around, that you were 
running away so fast just now ? " 

"No; if there were I 'd never have found yo7i 

here," said Frank, shortly, in reply; which at 
once turned the tide in his favor and diverted the 
ridicule from himself to his teaser, who was seized 
by some of his comrades and carried off with 
much laughter and slapping on the back. 

" I wish to see Colonel Marshall," said Frank, 
pushing his way through the group that surrounded 
him, and riding up to the man who was still occu- 
pied at the basin on the stump. 

" All right, sir, I 'm the man," said the individual, 
cheerily looking up with his face dripping and rosy 
from its recent scrubbing. 

"You the colonel?" exclaimed Frank, suspi- 
cious that he was again being ridiculed, and thinking 
it impossible that this slim, rosy-faced youngster, 
who was scarcely stouter than Hugh, and who was 
washing in a tin basin, could be the commander 


of all these soldierly-looking men, many of whom 
were old enough to be his father. 

" Yes, I 'm the Lieutenant-Colonel. I 'm in 
command," said the gentleman, smiling at him 
over the towel. 

Something made Frank understand that this 
was really the officer, and he gave his message, 
which was received with many expressions of 

" Won't you get down ? Here, Campbell, take 
this horse, will you ? " he called to a soldier, as 
Frank sprang from his horse. The orderly stepped 
forward and took the bridle. 

"Now, come with me," said the colonel, lead- 
ing the way. " We must get ready to receive your 




mother. There are some ladies coming — and with his coat tightly buttoned, his soft hat set 
breakfast," he called to a group who were engaged jauntily on the side of his head, his plume sweep- 
in the same occupation he had just ended, and ing over its side, and his sword clattering at 
whom Frank knew by instinct to be officers. his spurred heel, he presented a very different 


The information seemed to electrify the little 
knot addressed ; for they began to rush around, 
and in a few moments they all were in their uni- 
forms, and surrounding the colonel, who having 
brushed his hair with the aid of a little glass hung 
on a bush, had hurried into his coat and was buck- 
ling on his sword and giving orders in a way which 
at once satisfied Frank that he was every inch a 

" Now let us go and receive your mother," said 
he to the boy. As he strode through the camp. 

appearance from that which he had made a little 
before, with his head in a tin basin, and his face 
covered with lather. In fact, Colonel Marshall was 
already a noted officer, and before the end of the 
war he attained still higher rank and reputation. 

The colonel met the rest of the party at the 
bridge and introduced himself and several officers 
who soon joined him. The negroes were directed 
to take the provisions over to the other side of the 
stream into the camp, and in a little while the 
whole regiment were enjoying the breakfast. 




The boys and their mother had at the colonel's 
request joined his mess, in which was one of their 
cousins, the brother of their cousin Belle. 

The gentlemen could eat scarcely anything, they 
were so busy attending to the wants of the ladies. 
The colonel, particularly, waited on their cousin 
Belle all the time. 

As soon as they had finished, the colonel left 
them, and a bugle blew. In a minute all was 
bustle. Officers were giving orders ; horses were 
saddled and brought out ; and, by what seemed 
magic to the boys, the men who just before were 
scattered about among the trees laughing and eat- 
ing, were standing by their horses all in proper 
order. The colonel and the officers came and 
said good-bye. 

Again the bugle blew. Every man was in his 
saddle. A few words by the colonel, followed 
by other words from the captains, and the column 
started, turning across the bridge, the feet of the 
horses thundering on the planks. Then the regi- 
ment wound up the hill at a walk, the men singing 
snatches of a dozen songs, of which " The Bonnie 
Blue Flag," " Lorena," and "Carry me Back to 
Old Virginia Shore," were the chief ones. 

It seemed to the boys that to be a soldier was the 
noblest thing on earth ; and that this regiment 
could do anything. 

Chapter IV. 

After this, it became a common thing for pass- 
ing regiments to camp near Oakland, and the fires 
blazed many a night, cooking for the soldiers, till 
the chickens were crowing in the morning. The 
negroes all had hen-houses and raised their own 
chickens, and when a camp was near them they 
used to drive a thriving trade on their own account, 
selling eggs and chickens to the privates while the 
officers were entertained in the " gret house." 

It was thought an honor to furnish food to the 
soldiers. Every soldier was to the boys a hero, and 
each young officer might rival Ivanhoe or Coeurde 

It was not a great while, however, before they 
learned that all soldiers were not like their favorite 
knights. At any rate, thefts were frequent. The 
absence of men from the plantations, and the 
constant passing of strangers made stealing easy, 
and hen-roosts were robbed time after time, 
and even pigs and sheep were taken without any 
trace of the thieves. The boys' hen-house, how- 
ever, which was in the yard, had never been 
troubled. It was about their only possession, and 
they took great pride in it. 

One night the boys were fast asleep in their room 
in the office, with old Bruno and Nick curled up on 

their sheep-skins on the floor. Hugh was away, so 
the boys were the only " men" on the place, and 
felt that they were the protectors of the plantation. 
The frequent thefts had made every one very suspi- 
cious, and the boys had made up their minds to 
be on the watch, and, if possible, to catch the thief. 

The negroes said that the deserters did the steal- 
ing. On the night in question, the boys were sound 
asleep when old Bruno gave a low growl, and then 
began walking and sniffing up and down the room. 
Soon Nick gave a sharp, quick bark. 

Frank waked first. He was not startled, for the 
dogs were in the habit of barking whenever they 
wished to go out-of-doors. Now, however, they 
kept it up, and it was in a strain somewhat different 
from their usual signal. 

"What's the matter with you? Go and lie 
down, Bruno," called Frank. " Hush up, Nick ! " 
But Bruno would not lie down, and Nick would 
not keep quiet, though at the sound of Frank's 
voice they felt less responsibility, and contented 
themselves with a low growling. 

After a little while Frank was on the point of 
dropping off to sleep again, when he heard a sound 
out in the yard, which at once thoroughly awakened 
him. He nudged Willy in the side. 

"Willy — Willy, wake up; there's some one 
moving around outdoors." 

"Umm-mm," groaned Willy, turning over and 
settling himself for another nap. 

The sound of a chicken chirping out in fright 
reached Frank's ear. 

"Wake up, Willy!" he called, pinching him 
hard. " There 's some one at the hen-house." 

Willy was awake in a second. The boys consulted 
as to what should be done. Willy was skeptical. 
He thought Frank had been dreaming, or that it 
was only Uncle Balla, or " some one " moving 
about the yard. But a second cackle of warning 
reached them, and in a minute both boys were 
out of bed pulling on their clothes with trembling 

"Let's go and wake Uncle Balla," proposed 
Willy, getting himself all tangled in the legs of 
his trousers. 

"No ; I '11 tell you what, let 's catch him our- 
selves," suggested Frank. 

"All right," assented Willy. "We'll catch 
him and lock him up ; suppose he 's got a pistol, 
your gun maybe won't go off" ; it does n't always 
burst the cap." 

" Well, your old musket is loaded, and you can 
hold him while I snap the cap at him, and get it 

" All right — I can't find my jacket — I '11 hold 

"Where in the world is my hat ?" whispered 



Frank. "Never mind, it must be in tlie house. 
Let 's go out the back way. We can get out 
without his hearing us." 

" What shall we do with the dogs? Let 's shut 
them up." 

"No, let 's take 'em with us. We can keep them 
quiet and hold 'em in, and they can track him if 
he gets away." 

"All right;" and the boys slowly opened the 
door, and crept stealthily out, Frank clutching his 
double-barrelled gun, and Willy hugging a heavy 
musket which he had found and claimed as one of 
the prizes of war. It was almost pitch-dark. 

They decided that one should take one side of the 
hen-house, and one the other side (in such a way 
that if they had to shoot, they would almost cer- 
tainly shoot one another!) but before they had 
separated both dogs jerked loose from their hands 
and dashed away in the darkness, barking furiously. 

" There he goes round the garden," shouted 
Willy, as the sound of footsteps like those of a man 
running with all his might came from the direc- 
tion which the dogs had taken. 

" Come on," and both started ; but, after taking 
a few steps, they stopped to listen so that they 
might trace the fugitive. 

A faint noise behind them arrested their atten- 
tion, and Frank tiptoed back toward the hen-house. 
It was too dark to see much, but he heard the 
hen-house door creak, and was conscious even 
in the darkness that it was being pushed slowly 

"Here 's one, Willy," he shouted, at the same 
time putting his gun to his shoulder and pulling the 
trigger. The hammer fell with a sharp "click" 
just as the door was snatched to with a bang. The 
cap had failed to explode, or the chicken-eating 
days of the individual in the hen-house would have 
ended then and there. 

The boys stood for some moments with their 
guns pointed at the door of the hen-house expect- 
ing the person within to attempt to burst out ; but 
the click of the hammer and their hurried con- 
ference without, in which it was agreed to let him 
have both barrels if he appeared, reconciled him 
to remaining within. 

(To be . 

After some time it was decided to go and wake 
Uncle Balla, and confer with him as to the proper 
disposition of their captive. Accordingly, Frank 
went off to obtain help whilst Willy remained 
to watch the hen-house. As Frank left he called 
back : 

"Willy, you take good aim at him and if he 
pokes his head out — let him have it ! " 

This Willy solemnly promised to do. 

Frank was hardly out of hearing before Willy 
was surprised to hear the prisoner call him by 
name in the most friendly and familiar manner, 
although the voice was a strange one. 

" Willy, is that you? " called the person inside. 


" Where 's Frank ? " 

" Gone to get Uncle Balla." 

" Did you see that other fellow ?" 


" I wish you 'd shot him. He brought me here 
and played a joke on me. He told me this was a 
house 1 could sleep in, and shut me up in here, — 
and blest if I don't b'lieve it 's nothin' but a hen- 
house. Let me out here a minute," he con- 
tinued, after a pause, cajolingly. 

"No, I won't," said Willy firmly, getting his 
gun ready. 

There was a pause, and then from the depths of 
the hen-house issued the most awful groan ; 

" Umm ! Ummm ! ! Ummmm ! ! ! " 

Willy was frightened. 

" Umm ! Umm ! " was repeated. 

"What 's the matter with you?" asked Willy, 
feeling sorry in spite of himself. 

"Oh! Oh! Oh! I 'm so sick," groaned the 
man in the hen-house. 

" How? What 's the matter?" 

"That man that fooled me in here, gave me 
something to drink, and it 's pizened me ; oh ! oh ! 
oh ! I 'm dying." 

It was a horrible groan. 

Willy's heart relented. He moved to the door 
and was just about to open it to look in when a 
light flashed across the yard from Uncle Balla's 
house, and he saw him coming with a flaming 
light-wood knot in his hand. 


'^ke little moorv % 
(Xio^kes just tKe 

a.rvotKer line 
^'Jwoiild make tKe letter (Q>^.'|1 

/^nti lY tKei-e \\/?v.S ^.notker moor\, 
put opposite just 50 - 

'^\^ou\3l make eknother letter tKere , 
a.nd lKa.t wollIoI be arx 

J- tkinK its funny thj^t I See -my letters up so Kigk ; 
J ^tkoi.LCj5Kt tKey only were on. blocks, but there \]\ey've in the sky 

>f Seevw to see tkem. every where, wkenever Tm. a.t pla.y — 
J lay my drumsticks on. rrv/ di^u70T. and tkere's the letter 

dinner wken. I Sit and play witK knives and forks, J see~~ — =^ 
^^/\11 kinds of letters round yrvy plate, '^^^ »^^\\ //^» and 

\AJher\ Tirjd^et> ^ood and lets me have the clothes-pins on. tke fjoor, 
I -n.ake iHf='l • S J\ /M^^^^^ !M\ * I'^ts of letters more . 

CDy papo. looks -for kours and KourS a-t letters -iix a. hooK , 
With not a picture there -at all at whicK I care to looK. . 

I tkinK tkat 1 etters are c^aite nice for little boys like ; 
'^\jX why a CDe^n should care {or them. ,1 really cann-ot See . 


His Grace, the Duke of Noodledom, — His Grace the Duke of Noodledom, 
A man of mighty name, A noted wit would be. 

Commander, Conqueror, Sovereign Lord, Who praised his reahn must also praise 
Omnipotent, to praise or blame, — His skill at puns and repartee ; 

Of honor rightly his, made light, And woe to him with eyes too dim 
And yearned to win a different fame. His Grace's famous jokes to see ! 


THE duke's jest. 


is friends and followers, and the 

Who sought his smiles to win, 
Hung on his lips, when pleased 
my lord 

Some pleasant drollery to 

And met each pause with loud 
Exactly where the laugh 
came in. 

our pardon, Duke," Yacomo 

" What did Your Grace re- 
^ mark ? " 

The Duke, amazed, re- 
hearsed the joke. 
His brow with gathering 
fury dark. 
Yacomo frowned, gazed on 
the ground. 
And, thoughtful, scanned the distant park. 

A stranger at the Court, one day, 

A man obtuse though wise, 
Walked with the Duke, who, — thinking thus 

The grave Yacomo to surprise, — 
Cracked for his guest his favorite jest, — 

A thing to melt the sternest eyes. 

" I fear your meaning still I miss," 

With suave regret he said. 
The gentlemen who stood about. 

Shook in their silken shoes with dread, 
While once again, in rage and pain 

The hapless joke was hazarded. 




hen, when Yacomo silent stood, 
Out stormed his angry Grace : 
What ! Not a smile ? Dull 
fool, your life 
Is yours but for a moment's 
space ! 

Down, wretch, and pray ! Your 
head shall pay 
For what is lacking in your 
face ! " 

Yacomo fell upon the ground, 
" My doom is just! " said he. 
But, ere I am forever dumb. 

One boon I beg, on bended knee; 
I pray that I, before I die. 

May have the joke explained to me ! " 

" 'T is well," the softened Duke replied, 

" I grant your last request. 
Go you, my learned ministers, 

Elucidate to him the jest. 
The executioner, when you 

Have made it clear, will do the rest." 

They talked all day, explained all night. 

The next day, and the next ; 
Expostulated, argued, urged. 

Until their very souls were vexed. 
And still he gazed like one amazed, 

His brow with anxious thought perplexed. 

The weeks went by; the months, the years, 

His counselors grew gray. 
The man who could not see a joke 

Was marked by children at their play. 
The Duke was to his promise true. 

And waiting, spared him day by day. 

nd when at last. His Grace 
had made 
A final joke, and died, 
And Noodledom had cjuite for- 

The wit which once had 
been her pride, 
Still in his cell, alive and 

Yacomo rested satisfied. 


By Harriet Prescott Spofford. 

It was a little " play-acting girl,'' as the chil- 
dren's nurse called her. Her name, on the adver- 
tising bills posted up at every street corner, was 
"Little Rosalie"; and the great dehght of 
the children was to be allowed to go to a matinee 
on a Saturday afternoon when they could hear and 
see her. It made no difference to them who else 
was on the stage. Irving, himself, or Booth, Patti 
or Nilsson, might have figured there ; to the 
children they would have been merely as aids to 
"Little Rosalie"; there was no play to speak of 
till she appeared ; or, if there were, it was only be- 
cause it led up to her appearance ; and, when she 
vanished, it was all flat and unprofitable till she 
came on again. 

When they went home they used to talk over 
the afternoon's experience untiringly, by the 
nursery firelight and even after they were in 
their beds. But the subject of their talk was never 
the mystery and excitement of the play, the charm 

of the scenery with its lovely landscapes and splen- 
did drawing-rooms, the beauty of the leading 
lady, the sweetness of the music, the drollery of 
clown, or comic man — it was always and only, 
Little Rosalie. 

Sometimes Little Rosalie was one character in the 
play, and sometimes she was another. Once she 
was a moonlight fairy, in a little, white silk gown 
whose long folds fell about her feet; her soft hair 
was loose on her shoulders, a star gleamed on her 
forehead, and another star tipped the lily's stem 
she held for a wand ; with her eyes uplifted, and 
a white light on her face, she sang, and the chil- 
dren thought a little angel from heaven would 
sing and look in just that way. And then a rosy 
light shone on her and made her lovely and lumi- 
nous ; again this changed to a pale-blue light, 
while a mist gathered about her and she seemed 
to grow dimmer and dimmer, singing more and 
more faintly, and now — she was gone! The 




children knew nothing of the way in which folds of 
lace, drawn one after another between her and them- 
selves, had caused her to disappear ; all seemed 
to be due to Rosalie's own powers and perfections. 
And when, in another scene, she came dancing 
on in short, gauzy skirts, with two butterfly-wings 
of peacock-feathers upon her shoulders and, 
springing upon a cloud, went sailing up out of 
sight as the play ended with soft music, they 
always found it difficult thoroughly to believe 
that she was not a fairy indeed ; and the next 
time they were taken to see her, they felt some 
misgivings as to whether she really would be 
there. And when she did appear, but as a poor 
little street-girl selling trifles from her basket, 
then it seemed as if she had been a poor little 
street-girl all her life, and that her fairy existence 
were all a dream of their own. 

What they would have said, at first, if they could 
have known that Little Rosalie acted the part of a 
street-girl selling trifles for her mother and the rest 
at home, in so lifelike a manner, because Rosalie 
was in truth and reality working for her own mother 
and the others at home, I do not know. They never 
thought of her as living a life apart from that at the 
theater. It never occurred to them to ask what be- 
came of her in the times when she was not tripping 
and dancing hither and thither in the midst of 
colored lights and enchantments; whether she was 
packed up and put away with the stage proper- 
ties, or whether she lived perpetually in the light 
and atmosphere in which they saw her play her 
mimic part. But there was no lady in all the 
land, nor in all the story-books, nor in all dear 
Maidie's histories, nor in all the tales that Aunt 
Nan had to tell, who was one tithe as interesting 
to them as Little Rosalie. And when they put a 
penny aside for their church money and their 
missionary money, they were very apt to put two 
pennies aside for the ticket that was to be an 
"open sesame" to Little Rosalie's domain ; and 
even their own savings were not enough, but had 
to be helped out by Uncle John or Aunt Sophy 
— for there were so many of them that they 
usually had found it best when they went to the 
theater to take a box, and that required quite a 
sum of money. 

But it was not so very often, after all, that this 
indulgence was permitted them. Not half a dozen 
times a year were they allowed so great a treat; 
but once, for themselves, and with their own 
money ; and once, because it was Christmas 
week; and once, because some lady came with a 
young daughter of her own to be entertained ; and 
once, when their cousins came up from the coun- 
try, — and oh, how they wished they had cousins 
to come up from the country every week ! 

" No," said Mamma. "When you have been 
having hard lessons, when Maidie has been strug- 
gling with her ' compound proportion ' " 

" ' The rule of three perplexes me, and practice 
drives me mad,' " sang Tom, half under his breath. 

"And Tom, laboring over his Natural Philos- 
ophy, and Bessy has mastered her ' complex frac- 
tions,' and Fanny learns a new line m the multi- 
plication table; and John, and Joe, and all, have 
been doing their best; — then I think an excursion 
into Fairyland does you no harm, and I let you go 
and see Little Rosalie. But if you went as often 
as you wish to go, — why, it would be like a dinner 
that is all dessert ! And that, you know, would 
never do." 

" I suppose not. Mamma," said Maidie, a little 

" Going to see Little Rosalie," said Tom, " is n't 
like going to the theater, generally. It 's " 

"It 's just because we love her so," said Bessy. 

" And wish to see her," added Johnny. 

"And I really think she knows us now," said 
Maidie. " I should have liked so much to throw 
her my bunch of violets, if I had dared, the very 
last time we were there." 

" Why did n't you tell me ?" said Tom. " / 'd 
have thrown them for you." 

"Because I knew you would, I suppose," an- 
swered Maidie. "And I did n't know whether it 
would do, you know." 

" That 's just like a girl ! " said Tom. 

" You don't expect me to be like anything else, 
do you?" said Maidie, with her sweet, roguish 

" Mamma," said Kitten, returning to the sub- 
ject, " is she vveally alive, or do they only wind her 
up and make her go ? " 

" I don't believe she 's alive just as we are," said 
Fanny. " She has those lovely wings, you know." 

" She does n't have them all the time," said Joe. 
" She does n't have them when she 's kneeling by 
her dying mother, or selling the things in the 

"Oh, thcii," said Bessy, "she 's acting/ And 
the wings are probably folded up under her ragged 

"But I should think they'd show, just a little 

" Well, they don't. Oh, should n't you like to 
know her, Maidie, and talk with her once ! " But 
Maidie was busy just then in comforting Kitten, 
who had hit her head against some corner. 

" The idea ! " said Aunt Lydia, who did not live 
with them, but was calling. " I should certainly 
be afraid, Margaret, that being so fascinated by 
her, they might some time become acquainted with 
this child-actor. 




" And what if they should ? " said their mother. 
" I am acquainted with her." 

"You, Mamma, you?" came a chorus. "Oh, 
Mamma, you can't mean so! — how did it hap- 
pen ? — tell us all about it, please ! " 

" Is she a tru/j person ? " asked Kitten. 

" Does she live in the theater?" asked Johnny. 

" Has she a mother, or anybody ? " asked Maidie. 

"Yes, she is a 'truly' person," answered their 
mother. " She lives on a street around the corner 
a little way from the theater. She has a mother, — 
a very sick mother, and an old grandmother, and 
a number of brothers and sisters. And she takes 
care of all of them." 

"Takes care?" asked Maidie, drawing her puz- 
zled brows together. 

"Yes, actually takes care. In the first place, 
there is no money for the family but that which she 
herself earns. Out of her salary she pays the rent 
of their rooms, buys their coal, and all their food, 
their clothes, their medicines, and everything else 
they have. Of course, they do not have a great 
deal. And more than that. This lovely little 
fairy creature who seems to you a being of wings 
and Colors, of light, music, and grace, of danc- 
ing, and of miraculous fairy-powers, rises in the 
morning and makes the fire, and dresses the 
children, — the two youngest are twins, — and they 
all are younger than she herself, too young yet 
to do any work worth mentioning. Then she pre- 
pares the breakfast, and makes her mother com- 
fortable, helps her poor old grandmother, and 
arranges the rooms. Some of the littler ones help 
her in that. And then she goes to rehearsal; 
that is, to the empty theater, where they practice 
portions of the evening work, with nobody to look 
on or applaud." 

"Oh, how I should like to be there!" cried 
Maidie, " I mean, if all the rest of us could be." 

" It would n't attract you in the least," said Aunt 
Lydia. "All that part of the house where the 
audience sits is dark ; black cambric covers the 
seats, and keeps the dust from the velvet and 
gilding ; and on the stage the scenes are not set, 
so you see only odd pieces of painted boards and 
ropes and pulleys ; while carpenters and their men 
are running about without their coats. The players 
are in their everyday clothes, and rattle over their 
parts, going through only the necessary motions, 
or trying certain of the mechanical effects, — the 
things that are done by machinery, you know, — 
such as riding away on clouds, or sailing upon a 
river, and so on. Oh, they are not at all interesting, 
rehearsals," said Aunt Lydia. " You make the 
thing altogether too attractive, Margaret." 

"Well then, rehearsal over," resumed their 
mother, with a smile, "our Little Rosalie eoes 

to market, and comes home, gets dinner and 
clears it away. And if she has a new part to learn, 
she sits down to study it ; and the study is severe, 
for she has to learn by heart every word she is to 
say, every gesture she is to make, and every step she 
is to take. She has to practice her dances, some- 
times for hours, and her songs, too. Oh, she works 
every day for many hours harder than you ever 
worked any hour in your lives. She has also to 
make and mend for the others, though the old 
grandmother gives some little help ; and, when 
night comes, the twins and the three other children 
put themselves to bed, while off she goes with her 
basket of costumes on her arm. Nobody thinks 
of troubling her, for all the policemen and people 
about there know her and are on the lookout to 
see her safely on her way. 

"When the play is over she comes out of the 
stage-door into the night. It is often snowy and 
slippery, or dark and muddy from a heavy rain, 
with not a star to be seen, the long reflections of 
the street lamps shining on the wet pavements. 
Sometimes she has a little supper with her grand- 
mother before she creeps into bed, tired out ; but 
often she goes to bed hungry. 

" I suppose she may be able to play her fairy 
and childish parts for some years yet ; for poor 
food and not enough of it, late hoiu's and little 
sleep, and her hard life, altogether, will perhaps 
have the effect of making her grow very slowly, 
and it is probable she will always be rather under- 
sized. But her beautiful voice ought to be carefully 

" Oh, Mamma ! " cried Maidie, with tears in her 
sweet eyes, " I think it is so cruel. If she could 
only come and live with us ! " 

"And what would become then of her mother 
and grandmother, of her sisters and brothers? 
They have nobody but Rosalie to do anything for 
them, and would have to go to the almshouse or 
die of starvation if it were not for her earnings." 

" Oh, I forgot! " 

"Papa could take care of them!" exclaimed 

" Do you think Papa could take care of another 
family of eight persons, and educate and bring up 
the younger ones " 

" I suppose you think he is made of gold ! " cried 

"There are people worse off than these," re- 
sumed Mamma; " people who have n't even any 
Rosalie to earn money for them. And such people 
need all the time and money that Papa and I have 
to spare." 

" But it all seems so strange," said Fanny, " that 
1 can't get quite used to it. She lives around the 
corner there, in some rooms, and cooks, and sweeps, 




and sews, and has a mother, and brothers, and 
sisters, as we do ? " 

"Yes; and I suppose her mother's heart aches 
to have poor httle Rosahe doing so much ; no doubt 
she often grieves over it. I 've no doubt, too, 
that she may feel a sort of terror, dreading what 
would become of the other children if anything 
happened to Rosalie. So, too, all the children look 
upon Rosalie as the one who gives them every- 
thing they have, as their protector — in short, their 

cut his hend and Maidie made him forget the pain 
by talking about Rosalie — and she said that per- 
haps, when the lights were put out, Rosalie went 
down through one of the trap-doors and into a 
narrow passage that ran far away under all the 
city, and was lighted by a moon at the very far- 
thest end ; a moon setting in the sea, for the pas- 
sage comes out in a cave on the sea-coast ; and 
that the cave was all lined, on top and sides, with 
bell-tones; and e\-ery time that the light of the 


guardian-angel. When you saw her in that 
singing-play hovering over the children asleep 
in the wood, with the great rosy wings arching 
up above her head and pointing down below her 
feet, you did n't dream that she really was a guar- 
dian-angel to so many, — did you .'' " 

"Oh, Mamma," cried Maidie, with tears in her 
eyes, " and I am of no use at all ! " and she could n't 
see a word of Bessy's French exercise, which she 
had been looking over for her sister, when the talk 
began, because of those tears. 

" I think," said Bessy, " I don't like it quite so 
well to know about her really, though. Tom said 
once that when the play was over she was changed 
into a footlight and somebody turned her off, and 
when it was lighted again, she stepped out. But 
Maidie said that could n't be; — it was the night Joe 
Vol. XV. — 32. 

little breaking waves glanced up and struck them, 
all the bell-tones were set ringing, and it was little 
Rosalie's work to polish off the bell-tones and tune 
them and make them ring just right, and when 
this was done those tones were what made all the 
music in the world." 

" I did n't believe it," said Johnny. " How do 
her bell-tones make Mamma's voice sing, I 'd like 
to know ? " 

" How does the sunlight make this fire shine ? " 
asked Tom, loftily. 

" Go along with your conundrums ! You think, 
just because you 're in Philosophy, that nobody 
else knows anything ! " 

" 1 said ' perhaps,' Johnny," said Maidie, gently. 
" It was all only 'maybe,' you know." 

"Well, I'm sure Rosalie makes just as much 




music in the world in the way she does, as she 
could in that way," said Tom. 

" Can't we go and see her at her real home, 
Mamma, or have her come to see us ? " asked 
Maidie, wistfully. 

" There it is, Margaret ! Just as I told you ! " 
said Aunt Lydia. 

'■ I am afraid it would do her no good, my dear. 
It is no kindness to make her discontented with 
her own home. And ours is very different." 

"At any rate," said Fanny, "you said we 
might go to see her when Cousin Alice comes." 

" So I did, if you had money enough between 
you for a box." 

"It is ten dollars for a box," exclaimed Aunt 

" But there are so many of us that it is cheaper 
to have a box, and in some respects it is more 

" I don't like a box half so well," said Tom. 
"There 's always somebody that doesn't see any- 

"Well, it is never f on, Tom!" said Aunt 

Tom colored up so that it was certain he would 
have answered back and spoiled everything, if 
Maidie's hand had not stolen gently to his arm. 
Still he must say something sharp. 

" Fan does n't care," he remarked, " if I do have 
the best seat for seeing, so long as she 's in the front 
of the box where people can see her long curls." 

"Oh, I should think you 'd be ashamed, Tom ! " 
cried Fanny. " I never wished anybody but 
Rosalie to see them." 

" And we ail wish Rosalie to like us," said 

"Rosalie's too busy for that sort of thing!" 
said Tom, with great contempt. 

"I don't know that she is," said Maidie. 
"Once — I — I never told anybody, — but once, 
when she was so very near our box, you know, I 
really did throw her a little lace bag full of choco- 
lates — those lovely chocolates that Uncle John 
gives us. And she caught it, and looked over 
and laughed, and actually slipped one into her 
mouth " 

" Then they weally do eat chocolates in fairy- 
land," murmured Kitten, as she climbed into 
Maidie's lap, for as yet she had by no means set- 
tled everything clearly in her little head. 

" Well," said Tom presently, looking up from 
the heavy calculations that he had been making 
with a pencil on his wristljands, "we can't go 

yet, — -unless Aunt Lydia 'chips in' " And 

to everybody's amazement Aunt Lydia did 'chip 
in ' a bright two-dollar-and-a-half gold piece on 
the spot. 

" That settles it ! " said Tom. " We could have 
borrowed some of our church-money, and let 
that wait, but Maidie said it would n't do. Now, — 
Nurse, and Aunt Lydia, and Mamma are three, 
and all the rest of us are — how many? No mat- 
ter; we can all squeeze in, I guess. And I say, 
Maidie," and here Tom's voice softened to a whis- 
per, " have you any more of the chocolates? " 

That night, in their little beds in the big bed- 
room, most of the children, as usual, could hardly 
close their eyes for joy over the expected outing. 

" Say, Maidie, are you asleep?" whispered Bessy. 

"Of course not," answered Maidie. " How do 
you suppose I can sleep, when I 'm going over in 
my mind the music that Rosalie 's going to sing 
and dance to, next Saturday?" 

" Oh, what is it like, Maidie ? " 

" Yes, what is it like, Maidie ! " 

"Well, it begins like a wind in the woods, — 
every little leaf whispers like a flute, and then they 
all bend with the wind that comes sighing along, 
and that wind is an oboe ; you know the oboe. And 
it goes sighing along out of sight. And far, far, 
far off, the violins are humming, all in a confusion, 
and the sound of them grows slower and more dis- 
tinct, and you hear it, and it is rain. And then 
come long, heavy chords from the violoncellos, that 
mean clouds. And, suddenly, the tone of a great, 
strong violin goes spurting into the rain and cloud, 
and comes leaping and dancing down, and that is 
the brook; and then the brass things, — the horns, 
you know, and the cymbals and those, — make 
everything all sunshine, and the violins soften 
down, and you hear harp-tones, — oh, in such a 
soft, bright, lovely air ! And that is Rosalie, the 
Spirit of the Brook, coming on. And she is all in 
palest folds of gauze, palest blue, and palest green, 
like great blocks of ice; she is sparkling with 
jewels, and her eyes and smile sparkle, too, 
and — oh, Bessy, how beautiful it is for anybody 
to do all the good that Rosalie does in the world ! 
Oh, if I could only be of use to people " 

"Oh, you arc, Maidie dear, you are of the 
greatest use to me ! I don't know what I should do 
without you ! " exclaimed her little bedfellow, clasp- 
ing Maidie in her arms, and able to speak her 
heart fully because it was dark. "You see to my 
work, and you make up our quarrels, and you get 
Mamma to let us do things, and — and " 

"But, you see, if I died, — to-morrow, say, — 
you would all get along as well without me in a 
little while. I 'm not really necessary to anybody. 
And she is really necessary just to keep ever so 
many people alive, and to bring them up and help 
them on in the world. And then, think to how 
many people she gives pleasure ; and how many 
children just count the days, the way we do, before 




they go to see 'Little Rosalie.' How perfectly 
lovely it must be to give people pleasure, like that. 
Oh, if I could but be as useful in the world as she 
is " 

And there Maidie stopped her confidences, for 
the faintly murmured assents showed that Bessy 
would soon be sound asleep in spite of herself. 

What a merry party it was, that set out for the 
"Old Prosper© " that frosty Saturday afternoon. 
Something detained the mother at home ; but 
Aunt Nan went in her place, and there was Nurse, 
and Aunt Lydia, and — the door-keeper laughed 
to see the rest of them ; he did n't pretend to count 
them, and so why should I ? It is no affair of any- 
body but the door-keeper, how many went into 
that box ; nor that Nurse had a luncheon for Kit- 
ten ; nor was it even his affair that Tom and 
Johnny did a good deal of pushing and shoving 
before finding the seats they wished ; nor that Jo 
hung over the red velvet cushion in front, to see 
whether, if he fell, his head would alight on the 
bass-drum or the snare-drum in the orchestra, 
while Aunt Lydia clutched at his heels and very 
nearly made him fall ; nor that Maidie, as usual, 
was crowded into the very front corner next the 
stage, where, if Joe had fallen, it would not have 
hurt him ; and where she could see less of the play 
than any of the others ; where, had she chosen, 
she could have climbed over and at a single step 
have mingled in the scene ; and where she could 
see so much of the ropes, and ladders, and coils 
of hose, and pieces of scenery, and everything 
going on in the wings, that it destroyed a good 
part of the illusion. 

Maidie laughed though, — she could n't help 
it, — when Aunt Lydia, after settling herself, took 
a phial of water from her muff. 

" There ! " said Aunt Lydia. " 1 never go to the 
theater without it. For you know if there should 
be a fire, and one were in danger of suffocating 
from the smoke, only let the handkerchief be wet 
in cold water and held over the mouth and nose, 
and one can breathe through that and keep alive 
a great while longer " 

" Nonsense, Lydia ! " said Aunt Nan. " What 
do you want to frighten the children for? As if 
there were one atom of danger in such a well- 
regulated place as this, with all these doors, and 
with firemen behind the scenes ! " 

" There is always danger, Anna, in the best of 
them," said Aunt Lydia severely. " And even if 
the firemen should put out the fire, the fright, the 
crazy panic, that would be caused, would do as 
much harm as the fire ; for there would be a rush 
and a jam, and people would be thrown down and 
trodden and squeezed and suffocated to death. I was 
in a theater once," she continued, as the children 

listened open-mouthed, "when there was an 
alarm of fire, and everybody started up, and some 
screamed, and some fainted, and great heavy men 
in the front rows went walking right over the backs 
of the seats — oh, we got out alive ! But I declare I 
don't see how ! There are the Clingstone children, 
— little dears, — do you see them, Maidie? " 

But as Maidie heard Aunt Lydia her eyes grew 
bigger and bigger, — far too big to see anything 
so near as the Clingstone children ; so big that 
she could see only the daily danger in which 
Little Rosalie lived ; and the terrible thought of it 
all, prevented any pleasure she might have taken 
in the strange and lovely opening scenes. But 
after a while, and when Little Rosalie had come 
on the scene, Maidie forgot that trouble in her 
present delight. Ain't )'0U glad you comed, 
Maidie ?" whispered Kitten; and, taking Maidic's 
answer for granted, added with a sigh of content- 
ment, " So 'm 1 ! " But Maidie did not hear her — 
she was so rapt in seeing a huge blossom open 
and let Rosalie out, to the sound of soft music, all 
her fays following from other unfolding flowers. 
She leaned far from the box in her forgetful gazing ; 
and soon it seemed as though Rosalie, whirling 
very near in her pirouette, gave them a smile of 
recognition, and then none of the children had 
either eyes or thoughts for anything but this float- 
ing, flashing sylph, swift as a flame and beautiful 
as a flower. 

At that moment a child down in the audience 
cried about something, and diverted from the 
stage, for half a thought, the glances of the occu- 
pants of the boxes, and of the rest of the audience 
as well, — the glances of all but Maidie. In that 
brief moment her eye beheld a dreadful sight seen 
by but one other person in front of the stage. 

Some one on the stage, however, had seen it, 
had uttered something, not in the part, to the one 
nearest, and the next instant down rolled the 
drop-scene and hid the stage from view. 

But not a moment too soon. For a spark had 
shot out and fallen on some inflammable sub- 
stance, and one little flame had sprung up and 
another had followed it, racing and chasing up- 
wards till a hundred tiny tongues of fire, little 
demons, were flying up the inner drapery and far 
aloft. At the same instant some one in the back 
of the audience shouted " Fire ! " 

It is a terrible sound in a crowded building. It 
makes the heart stop beating for a second. It made 
Aunt Lydia's heart stop beating for that second, 
and then she began to cry in spite of Aunt Nan's 
calm voice, and to huddle the children together 
to rush for the door. But it came upon Maidie 
in that moment that if everybody rushed to the 
door at once, nobody could get there. Those in 




front, she saw at once, would be crowded on and 
knocked down by others piling upon them, and all 
buried under one another, stifled, and killed, — so 
that fire itself could do no more. As the thought, 
lightning-swift, ran through her mind, she saw 
people rising excitedly in the front, and she knew 
there would be a panic the next moment, a rush, 
a jam, and fearful trouble. Oh, why was there 
nobody to prevent it ? If Papa were but there ! Oh, 
thank Heaven, thank Heaven, he was not, — if there 
was no escape ! Could nobody hinder ? If she, 
herself were only of some use ! And these count- 
less children here, whose mothers would be broken- 
hearted; and the mothers, who would never see 
their homes again, — homes that would be desolate ! 
This was all realized in two breaths. And in a third 
breath the drop-scene was pulled aside a trifle, 
some of the orchestra took up the music that had 
stopped for only a few beats, and out bounded Little 
Rosalie with her long scarf and basket, spinning 
and pirouetting half-way across the stage, and 
pausing in the middle of the prettiest attitude of 
the " Great Bonbon Act," while out of the charm- 
ing basket on her arm she caught and whirled 
hundreds of bonbons as far as her hand could 
throw them among the babies in the audience. It 
was done in far less time than it takes me to tell of it. 
But asoneof these very bonbons fell into the box, the 
thought rushed into Maidie's mind that the stage 
people were afraid of the panic and the crush, and 
so had sent Little Rosalie out with the bonbons, to 
dance as if nothing were the matter, hoping thus 
to distract the attention of at least enough of the 
audience to prevent the sudden attempt of so many 
to get out at once, — whereby a number would cer- 
tainly be killed in the panic, — by making them 
think it must be a false alarm if the play could 
still go on and this child dance so composedly, and 
that in the mean time they themselves were trying 
to put out the fire. 

For Maidie herself had seen the fire. And she 
knew it was actually in there, spirting and spouting 
and climbing higher and higher ; and she could 
hear, from where she was, the breathless move- 
ments of those behind the curtain who were trying 
to smother it. 

But something else rushed over Maidie, too, — 
for thought is wondrous quick and full. It was 
that if Little Rosalie stayed there another moment 
she would herself be burned alive, and then what 
would become of the mother and the grandmother 
and the twins, and all the rest who had nobody 
but Rosalie in the whole wide world ! And before 
Maidie fairly knew what she was doing, and while 
poor Aunt Lydia was still clucking and calling to 
the family, she sprung up and from the box, — it was 
but a single step, — and had run across the stage, be- 

fore all the bewildered people, and had clasped Little 
Rosalie, crying quickly and softly, as she dropped 
her arms, " Oh, run, run, Little Rosalie, run ! Save 
yourself! For I really saw the fire! And," as 
Rosalie did not run, " what will they do at home 
without you, if you are killed here ? And there are 
so many of us at home that nobody will miss me 
very much ! I will stay instead of you ! " 

Poor Maidie ! As if her staying would have been 
of the least use ! But she never thought of that. 
She only thought that if some child must stay there 
it would better be she than Rosalie. And even 
while she pleaded, up went the great drop-scene, 
rolling to the top, and out flocked all the players 
of the scene, and a few of the orchestra, who had 
not at first had courage to remain, slipped back 
and swelled the music ; and a motley throng sur- 
rounded Rosalie and Maidie, and whirled them 
back and out of sight, and from the front there 
came a perfect storm of clapping hands that 
was almost terrific. And then a group of the 
strangest looking people were caressing Maidie, 
and Little Rosalie herself was hanging on her neck 
one moment, and somebody took her by the hand ; 
— she was now pretty thoroughly frightened, and 
had a vague idea that she was to be carried out to 
the "sea-cave," after all, — and led her round by 
some back way to the box again. Here Aunt 
Lydia was just resuming her seat and smoothing her 
ruffled feathers, but was still quite determined to 
go out and take the children with her, as soon as 
this could be done without attracting too much at- 
tention. The children were quite as determined 
not to go. And, indeed, their pleadings finally 
carried the day. 

But that night Maidie's father came into the 
room where she lay in her little bed much too ex- 
cited to sleep. " It was one of the bravest things 
I ever heard of, — Little Rosalie's act," said he. 
" Such a child as that must not be wasted. And 
a subscription is to be taken up that will bring a 
sufficient sum to complete her education in what- 
ever way is thought best." 

" Oh, you don't mean so. Papa ! " came a chorus 
from all the beds. " Oh, how glad I am ! And 
to take care of all her folks at home, too. Papa ? " 

"But as for you, my little darling," continued 
her father to Maidie, " how could you possibly think 
you were of so little use at home as to be willing 
to break our hearts by risking the loss of your 
life? What if I had come home to-night and 
found no Maidie to meet me ? " And Maidie 
started up and threw her arms about her father, 
touched to the heart by her sudden feeling of what 
his grief might have been. " I want you never to 
forget, little daughter," he went on in a husky 
voice, " that you are of great and important use in 



the family. Does not your mother rely on you as 
her first aid? Are you not my little comforter? 
How are all these children to grow up without the ex- 
ample and the care of their eldest sister? Our duties 
all begin at home. Heroic actions are great and 
admirable. But there are other actions just as ad- 
mirable. Among these are the daily acts of duty 
done, with which you make life pleasant and easy 
for your mother and me, for Tom, for Kitten, and 
for all of us. When I remember that I never saw 
my Maidie out of temper in my life " 

" Nor heard her say ' I can't ' when you ask her 
to tic your ribbons, or to do your sum, or to find 
your needle," added Fanny. 

" Nor knew her to do anything but to try to make 
everybody about her happy, and keep her own 
sweet soul white in the eyes of heaven," continued 
her father. " When I remember this of Maidie, I 
think all this daily service is of as much worth as 
the one heroic deed that risks life to save the lives 
of others." 

" 1 don't" said Johnny. " I think it 's splendid 

"'oh, run, KUN, little ROSALIE, Rl N 1 SAVE VOL RSELI 

"Nor heard her speak rudely to any one," in- to save folks' lives. I 'm not going to do anything 

terrupted the listening Bessy. else, when I grow up. Are you, Joe ? Only, I wish 

" Nor knew of her telling anything but the truth," I 'd thought before Maidie did, and had begun 

cried Tom from the other room. by trying to save Little Rosalie ! " 


By Mary B. Bruce. 

The weather is cross," the children say, 
Or else forgets it 's a holiday." 
Down in torrents the cold rain pours, 
No chick or child may peep out of doors. 

Good little scholars, the school week through, 
•On Saturday pant for something to do. 
And when the fun begins to flag. 
What is so fine as a game of tag ? 

Over the carpets go nimble feet. 
Boyish laughter peals loud and sweet. 
" Mother is goal ! " the racers cry. 
To mother in turn the racers fly. 

Dear little sons, in hfe's real race, 
When hardest you struggle to win your place, 
Pressed by pursuers that mean you ill, 
" Mother is goal," be your watch-word still. 


By Sophie Swett. 

They were a very moving family. It seemed, 
as Grandma Standwell said, to be a family trait, 
like a quick temper, or a Roman nose. It began 
with tlie very first Standwells they knew anything 
about, who came over from England in the third 
ship after the "Mayflower." Grandma said she 
never could understand how they escaped coming 
in the very first; — but Grandma was not of 
Standwell blood. They made up for any time 
lost in not doing so by moving all over the colony 
in the first two years, in spite of (or, perhaps, 
generally on account of) poverty, and bears, 
and Indians. They went like inch-worms, a 
little way at a time; so, although the success- 
ive generations had kept on moving, the fam- 
ily had reached only Connecticut when Grandma 
and Grandpa were married and settled down 
to — moving. Grandpa had a book that told 
all about the prowess of his ancestors in those 
early days, and they really were very valiant 
people ; but Grandma never seemed to be im- 
pressed with anything but the number of times 
they had moved. Once she had been heard to 
say that if she had read that book before she mar- 
ried Grandpa, but that was when the moving- 
men dropped a frying-pan upon a piece of Sevres 
china that was an heirloom from her French 

Grandma had moved twenty-nine times. She 
counted them up one day after she and Grandpa 
gave up housekeeping and went to live with their 
son Arad. Maria, Arad's wife, groaned ; but the 
children, Peter and Polly, and Dave and Nan, and 
little Lysander, thought it must have been rather 
good fun. 

Grandpa said he could n't see how they had 
happened to move so many times ; for he was 
sure he was never one that liked to move ; 
but there was the time that Nancy (that was 

Grandma) said the roof of the old house a 
Hammcrsfield never could be repaired so that 
it would n't leak ; and the time she said she 
could n't live any longer in the house with her 
cousin Jane, because there was always the smell 
of frying doughnuts, and Jane would 'argue 
against " 'piscopalians " ; and the time she said 
they ought to move to Hartford on account of 
the schooling privileges — " certingly, she did." 
Grandpa always said " certingly " when he wished 
to be very impressive. 

Grandma laughed ; she was very good-natured 
and could laugh even about such trials, and said 
she believed the "moving-disease" was conta- 
gious, as well as hereditary. Arad's wife said she 
did hope Arad never would have it, and Grandma 
said she did n't know but she should die, if he did. 
Arad said, somewhat to the disappointment of the 
children, that there was n't the least danger. He 
had almost paid for the house they lived in, and 
he was n't going to move until he could buy a 
brownstone front on Fifth Avenue. Grandma 
said, with a sigh of relief, that would not be in her 

The children immediately went into the back 
yard and played "moving"; and Nan, who was 
"realistic," sacrificed her second-best tea-set to 
imitate the fate of Grandma's Sevres china. 

They lived uptown in New York, and they had 
— only think of it ! — an apple-tree in their back 
yard. A great, gnarled, wide-spreading apple- 
tree that looked as if it had strayed from a country 
orchard, but which made the best of the bit of sun 
and sky and air that it could get, and blossomed 
and bore fruit as industriously as if it realized that 
its responsibilities were greater even though its 
privileges were less than those of a country apple- 

It was the family Calendar; everything dated 





from "the year when the graft first bore," or 
from "the year when they had seven barrels of 
apples," or the year of " the May frost that killed 
half the blossoms." The trunk vvas covered with 
notches where the children measured their growth; 
they said it was quite wonderful how the tree 
came down to them ; even little Lysander found 
that it was not half so tall as it was when he was 
small. Each had his own seat among the crotches 
of the great boughs. Peter's was away up, almost 
out of sight; but it was not little Lysander, but 
Polly, whose seat was on the lowest bough, for the 
tree never came down to Polly. 

I don't know quite how to say it — they were 
all so sensitive about hearing her called a dwarf — 
but the truth is that Polly had never grown at all 
since she was six years old ; which was the result of 
a spinal deformity. She was now almost thirteen, 
and although she was comparatively well she 
would never grow any taller. But Polly was not 
unpleasant to look at, although her shoulders 
were far too broad for her height, and were a 
little, only a very little, rounded. She had a 
pretty, yellow, curly-thatched head, and a pair of 
cheerful, brown eyes through which a merry and 
loving heart sent its bright beams. " Oh, play 
something else, children, and don't talk about 
moving. Only think, we should have to leave the 
apple-tree ! " cried Polly, sitting down on the 
broad doorstep where the sunlight sifted through 
the apple-tree boughs upon her yellow head. 

" If you were to die and go to Heaven, you would 
have to leave the apple-tree," remarked practical 
Nan, to whom, in truth, an apple-tree more or 
less in the world did not seem of great account — 
except when the apples were ripe. 

" Do they have them there, Polly ? " asked little 
Lysander, anxiously. 

" I don't know, dear," answered Polly, a little 

It seemed strange, but only just a month 
after Grandpa and Grandma came to live with 
them. Papa Standwell came home one night 
and said they were compelled to move. An old 
friend, whose note he had indorsed, had failed 
to pay, and he was obliged to sell the house to 
meet the indebtedness ; otherwise, he should fail 
in business. That misfortune would be so much 
the greater that, after the first shock, his wife 
began to feel quite reconciled. She had suspected 
that Arad was troubled about something, she said, 
and it had worried her so much that now she was 
really thankful that it was nothing worse. After a 
while she quite brightened up over the prospect of 
another house ; it would be a hired house and 
smaller even than this, for they must be very eco- 
nomical now, but some things she would be sure 

of: the door of the dining-room closet should n't 
open the wrong way, so that one was obliged to shut 
another door to get into it ; and there should n't 
be a dark bed-room ; nor a ridiculous old-fashioned 
paper, all over lambs and shepherdesses, on the 
walls of the spare chamber. It would be a comfort 
to have a more modern house, altogether ; she had 
never wished Arad to buy this one, which began 
to look quite ridiculous among the handsome new 
blocks of brick houses. Grandpa — well, he had 
been accused of looking longingly at the laden 
furniture wagons that went rushing about on the 
first of May, so he said very little, but he cer- 
tainly was surprisingly cheerful. 

The children were hilarious, all except Polly. It 
seemed to her too bewildering, too dreadful, to be 
true. She stole away by herself up into her apple- 
tree seat to think it over. How could they live in 
another place ? It was almost too much for Polly's 
imagination to grasp. That closet door ivas 
troublesome, especially when one was in a hurry ; 
and the dark bed-room was certainly pokerish — 
little Lysander entertained the opinion that a 
Huggermugger giant had a permanent residence 
there — but what a triumph it vvas when one first 
dared to go in there alone ! It was used as a store- 
room for goodies, which was the reason, perhaps, 
that little Lysander's belief was not more sternly 
discouraged, and there was a mysterious fascination 
even about its faded chintz portiere, with a pattern 
of blue peacocks. In one corner was kept the 
great bag of chestnuts which Uncle Amos sent 
them every autumn ; Polly had not yet ceased to 
be proud that she dared to go, all in the dark, 
and get them to roast in the evening. As for the 
"shepherdess" paper in the spare chamber, Polly 
thought that perfectly beautiful ; it had beguiled 
many a weary hour of illness for her, and the 
shepherdesses and their sheep seemed almost like 
old friends. It had never troubled her mother 
seriously until Aunt Caroline, who was rich and had 
had her house "decorated" by an artist, said it 
was " impossible." 

Good or bad, every inch of the house, every nook 
and cranny, was home. Polly could n't possibly 
see how they could ever have another one. 

And their apple-tree ! Would it live on just the 
same, shooting out its tiny, woolly buds, which 
appeared so miraculously in the spring, after old 
Boreas and Jack Frost had bent and beaten and 
snapped its bare branches, until it seemed impossi- 
ble that the tree could have any life in it? Would 
it put forth its blossoms, making a pink and white 
glory of itself, and perfuming the whole neighbor- 
hood, getting up the loveliest of mimic snow- 
storms, and then setting its firm, round little 
apples that would grow plump, and spicy, and red- 



cheeked, — and they not there ? Polly felt as though 
her heart were breaking. 

Grandma missed her, and came in search of her. 
She laughed at her and scolded her, and insisted 
that she, being young, ought to enjoy the prospect 
of a change; and all the time tears were trickling 
down her own soft, wrinkled, white cheeks. 

"Bless the child, I 'm afraid she's hke me," 
said Grandma to herself, as she went into the 

Polly, who usually had been first and foremost 
when "good times " were in prospect. She could n't 
be made to understand that moving was a " good 
time." It could n't be because she was so old; 
for Grandpa, who was nearly eighty, was as pleased 
as any of them. 

Little Lysander was one day overcome by a pang 
at the thought of leaving the apple-tree, but he 
was speedily consoled by Nan's reported discovery 


(SEE r. 

house. "But she'll get over it. Moving is a 
toughening process." 

One day Papa Standwell came home and said 
that, after all, they need n't move unless they 
chose, as the man who had bought the house 
wished to let it. But that was after they had 
almost decided upon a house, further down town, 
and in quite a fashionable street ; and Mamma 
Standwell said, that since they would be obliged to 
pay rent anyway, they might as well pay for a house 
that suited them ; and since the change had been 
decided upon she had been discovering, every day, 
other defects in the house beside the closet-door, 
and the dark bed-room, and the "shepherdess" 
paper, — until she quite wondered how she could 
have been contented to live there. 

No one observed how Polly's face brightened, 
then darkened again pitifully, unless, indeed, 
Grandma may have done so. 

The children did n't know what to make of 

of a candy-shop just around the corner from the 
new house, where chocolate "Jim Crows" were 
sold two for a penny. Little Lysander felt that 
such a neighbor could assuage even a deeper grief. 

When the day of the " flitting" came, they all 
felt a trifle sad. When they saw the rooms looking 
so forlorn and desolate, they remembered all the 
good times they had had there, but there was no 
time to indulge such emotions for the children had 
to run here and there at every one's bidding. Peter 
was obliged to mount guard over his collection of 
butterflies and birds' eggs, to see that they were 
safely loaded ; and Nan had all she could do to 
protect her dolls' house, which already had one of 
its chimneys broken by being packed carelessly 
upon the load. Mary Ann, their one servant, gave 
immediate warning because "moving made a re- 
spictable gyurrl too rcinairkablc j " and Dandy, 
their precious pug, whose peace of mind had been 
destroyed by the arrival of Grandpa's dog. Ranger, 




decided that the old order was now changing quite 
too much for his endurance, and ran away. They 
never saw him again. 

Sarah, the cat, securely fastened into a stout 
basket, was carried to the new home by Peter ; but 
objected so vociferously all the way that a crowd 
gathered, and Peter was seriously embarrassed. 

They thought their .trials would be over when 
they were fairly in their new home ; but Mamma 
Standwell declared that she found them only just 
begun. For, nothing would fit ; their newest fur- 
niture looked shabby ; the chimney would n't draw, 
and the plumbing was out of order so that the floors 
had to be taken up, — and there was n't a bit of a 
back yard ! Peter mourned a broken gun, and 
Nan's Paris doll had been crushed in its box and 
transfixed by the poker, so that its sawdust strewed 
the street ! 

Grandma consoled them by saying they would 
know better how to pack, when they had moved as 
many times as she had. 

The homesick ones. Grandma and Polly, tried to 
make the very best of it, but little Lysander roared 
mightily because he "felt as if he were somebody 
else," and the cat disappeared and was found, after 
a long search, in the apple-tree at the old house, 
a mile away, meowing piteously. 

After all, they lived in that house only six months 
and a half, for Papa Standwell failed in business in 
spite of his effort to prevent it. He tried to secure 
some work in the same business, because he knew 
nothing of any other, and, after much waiting and 
worry, work was offered him — in Chicago. 

Mamma Standwell was not happy about this 
moving. She said one moving had taught her a 
lesson, and she was sure she should never find a 
house so charming as their old one. 

Grandma openly wept this time, but she said it 
was some comfort that no one could say they were 
" going like inch-worms," lunv. 

Grandpa was joyful, although in a subdued way. 
He said he had always meant to move out West, 
when he was a young man, and he talked about it 
to Peter and Dave until they felt that their lives so 
far had been wasted, because they had n't lived in 

Polly did n't seem to mind it very much, any- 
way. She had grown quiet and listless ; she was 
no longer first and foremost in good times. Her 
mother said the child must take cod liver oil. 

The house in Chicago had a back yard ; and, 
although there was no apple-tree in it, there was 
a great heap of ancient and dilapidated theatrical 
properties — masks, tin swords, gilded crowns, 
and tinsel ornaments, which went far to mitigate 
the children's pangs of home-sickness. They were 
all a little homesick this time, for there was no 

familiar face or scene. And Peter would n't be a 
king ; he said he did not feel equal to playing any 
part but " The Man Without a Country." 

Before they had lived there three months, Papa 
Standwell discovered that they were on the wrong 
side of the city. He wished he " had known more 
about Chicago" before he came, and declared the 
location " positively unhealthy. " So they moved. 

Giandma said that was apt to be the way when 
people once began. 

Mamma Standwell did n't care so much, now, 
whether things fitted or not. She said they had all 
lost the " home-feeling," and it did n't seem worth 
while to try to make the house pleasant. 

Papa Standwell was becoming discouraged ; he 
said his work was like a treadmill; that it did not 
agree with his health ; that the physicians told 
him that an outdoor life was the only thing for 
him ; and he had heard of an opportunity to buy, 
" for a song," a prairie farm, away out at Big 
Bear Creek. The children thought the name very 
promising ; they could n't find it on the map, but 
they discovered that it was in the region of Indians, 
and cowboys, and buffaloes, and Dave thought 
that now life was to be "like a story-paper," — 
in which particular he had hitherto been disap- 
pointed. Peter, with spirits quite restored, tried, 
in the privacy of his own bosom, to decide whether 
he should be a " cattle king" or a "silver mill- 
ionaire." Mamma Standwell shed a few tears, 
but said she supposed she ought to be reconciled 
if it would be better for Arad's health ; and per- 
haps the change might do Polly good, too. 

Grandpa, in the best of spirits, helped little 
Lysander to knot up the new clothes-line to make 
a lasso for buffaloes. Grandma said, trying her 
best to be cheerful, that there was one good thing 
about it — they should have a home of their own 
again, and not be likely to move. 

Papa Standwell laughed, and said they could n't, 
for there was no where to move to ; and they could 
not come back because he should have spent all 
the money on the farm. 

It was along, long journey ; railroads and stages, 
and even houses and people, gave out before they 
reached the end ; and around them there were only 
great prairies, rolling and rolling like the waves of 
the ocean, and away off, as far as the eye could 
reach, they rolled into the sky. There was only 
now and then a tree, — a forlorn, scrubby little tree, 
which, Peter said, looked as if it had moved from 

It was somewhat disappointing that there were 
no bears ; it appeared that little Lysander had 
expected to see them in great numbers, along the 
road and up in the trees, all quite amiable and 
waiting to be taught to dance, like the bear which 



for him represented the entire species — one he 
had seen in the circus. 

Polly confided privately to Grandma that she 
had hoped for an apple-tree. 

But it was some compensation that the creek 
was almost a river; and that there were Indians, 
peaceful and friendly (which was disenchanting to 
Dave), but quite attractive in appearance; for, 
although one wore a commonplace tall silk hat, 
he had stuck a feather into the band, and draped 
a gay blanket over his suit of shiny broadcloth. 

It was spring, and there were great fields of 
grain already green, and promising abundant 
harvests. The house was comfortable ; and in 
the barn, beside cows, and oxen, and horses, was 
a charming little Texan pony for Polly, and when 
he went scampering over the prairies with her on 
his back, really a faint, rosy color came to Polly's 

The boys were somewhat cast down because there 
were no enemies to conquer, "save winter and 
rough weather." 

" There ain't no b'ars round here, nor no fightin' 
Injins this side of Liberty Gulch," said Uncle 
Peter Ramsdell, their nearest neighbor, who lived 
five miles away, but who hastened to pay a 
neighborly visit upon their arrival. "But Nater, 
she gets on the rampage once in a while and makes 
things lively. I 've fit b'ars and I 've fit Injins, 
and they ain't nothin' more 'n trifles compared to 
Nater when she gets a-goin' ! I expect you 've 
heard tell of cyclones? Jake Cam'ell, that lived 
here before you did, he made that kind of a dug-out, 
back in the field, and he scrambled into it, with his 
whole family and his stock, about every time he 
see a cloud. But these few years back the cretur 's 
gone tearin' off to the south'ard, without so much 
as givin' us a touch of its hoofs, and I hope to 
mercy it will keep a-goin' that way. It laid Carter 
City level with the ground, except the meet'n'- 
house, — and it ketched that up and tossed it 
into the river." 

" So that 's what that great square hole is for," 
said Dave. " We supposed some one had dug a 
cellar, meaning to build a house. I wonder if we 
shall ever scramble into it ? " 

Privately Dave was of opinion that it might be 
fun, for indeed he understood what a cyclone 
was but little better than did Lysander, who had 
gathered from Uncle Peter Ramsdell's discourse 
a vivid impression that it was a wild beast with 
four horns and a fiery tail. 

They were on the lookout for one, for several 
weeks ; and then they gradually forgot about it. 
They ceased to take any notice of passing clouds, 
and the dug-out was used as a play-house. Nature 
sent them long, golden days, and just enough 

soft, warm rains, as if she were thinking of nothing 
but their harvests ; and seemed altogether so lovely 
and gracious that they could not believe she would 
ever " get on the rampage," as Uncle Peter Rams- 
dell had expressed it. 

In the late summer Grandpa had a stroke of 
paralysis, and that drove everything else from 
their minds. Poor Grandpa! — he could still 
speak, and retained his senses perfectly, but his 
limbs upon one side were useless. He was very 
patient and cheerful ; but he said he had begun 
to think that perhaps the land was better in the 
next county, on the other side of the creek, and if 
Arad should ever wish to move there, he hoped 
he should n't be any hindrance. Grandma laughed 
and cried, and said she hoped she had n't com- 
plained too much, and declared she would be 
willing to move to the ends of the earth with him 
if he could. 

One day in September, Papa and Mamma Stand- 
well and Grandma went to Young America, shop- 
ping. It was a twenty-mile drive, and they started 
at daylight. Their maid-of-all-work, Uncle Peter 
Ramsdell's niece, had been summoned home be- 
cause her mother had erysipelas, and Polly was 
left in charge of the children and of Grandpa. 

Peter and Dave were in the pumpkin-field, when 
Dave, looking up suddenly, said : 

" Is n't that a queer-looking little cloud just 
above the horizon? It 's like a cannon-ball, — so 
round and black." 

Peter turned pale as he glanced at it, and 
dropped the pumpkin he held, and started at a 
run for the house. 

"It 's rushing toward us ! See how it grows ! 
It 's a cyclone, Dave ! " he cried while he ran. 

" Polly ! Polly ! " they shouted as they came 
near the house. "Get into the dug-out, you and 
little Lysander, quick ! We 're going to get the 
cattle in. There 's a cyclone coming ! " 

Polly caught up little Lysander, who had been 
building a Tower of Babel and had his hands full 
of blocks, and ran to the dug-out, as well as she 
could with such a burden. Nan was already there, 
with her best doll and her pet rabbit, and the tin 
cooky-box. Little Lysander cried for his kitten, 
and Polly ran and brought it. The cattle and 
horses were frightened, and Polly's pony would 
have broken away if she had not soothed and 
caressed him. 

The sky was growing dark, and there was a 
stillness that seemed frightful. 

" Now I am going back to stay with Grandpa. 
I 've tried to think of some way to get him here, 
but we can't ; he is too heavy. Take care of them 
all, Peter ! " 

They tried to dissuade her. 



"You can't do any good ! You are foolish," 
cried Peter. 

"He 's old and ill, and he is frightened," said 
Polly, as calmly as if she herself were not trem- 
bling in every limb. She heard a distant rushing 
and roaring as she closed and barred the house- 

"Polly! Polly! don't leave me alone!" cried 
Grandpa Standwell, half rising from his couch, as 
no one supposed he could. " But — you 'd better 
go, child ! You 'd better go ! " he murmured the 
next moment, falling back helplessly. " What 
does it matter about an old man like me ? " 

" I shall stay, Grandpa. Don't be afraid," said 
Polly, stoutly. She threw her arms around his 
neck, and waited. 

In the dug-out Peter and Dave found it a hard 
task to quiet the frightened animals. Old Mac, the 
strong farm-horse, trembled, and the oxen lowed 

Little Lysander's kitten escaped from his arms, 
scrambled out of the dug-out, and ran away. 

"I 'm going after it!" said Nan. "There '11 
be time " 

"Stay where you are!" said Peter, sternly. 
Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when 
there was a great blackness, a rushing, a roaring, 
and a crash I Little Lysander said afterward that 
he felt the sky come down and hit him. Breathless 
they crouched in the bottom of the dug-out. 

As the noise was stilled the atmosphere cleared, 
and gradually the sky brightened. 

Peter was the first to look out. 

Was it the same place, or had they been blown 
away ? 

There were no cornfields, no fences. Where 
were the house and the barn ? 

" The house has moved away ! " cried little Ly- 

Papa and Mamma Standwell and Grandma, 
driving home from Young America, were only a 

few miles out of the course of the cyclone, and 
their hearts were almost bursting with suspense and 
fear when they met Uncle Peter Ramsdell. 

' ' There 's a house that looks to be your 'n clapped 
down, all stan'in', t' other side of the creek; and 
your barn was goin' down river, till it got driv' 
ashore down by the bend. I would n't take on, if 
I was you, for the cretur has often hove things 
'round like that without hurtin' a hair of the folks's 
heads that was in them ! " said Uncle Peter. 

They found that Uncle Peter understood " the 
cretur," for Grandpa and Polly were safe and 
sound. Grandpa was cheerful, even jocose : and 
said he had moved again in spite of them ! 

The shock to Polly's nerves caused a long fainting 
fit, and at one time they feared that Polly, as little 
Lysander remarked innocently, would "find out, 
now, whether there were apple-trees in Heaven." 

But Polly has lived to own a great apple-orchard 
in this world. It is planted on the spot to which 
the cyclone carried them, for it was Government 
land, where anyone could take up a claim. It was 
more fertile than that from which they had been 
taken, nearer to neighbors, close to a church and 
school. Uncle Peter Ramsdell insisted upon buying 
their old farm on the other side of the creek. He 
said he wanted it because a cyclone, like lightning, 
was not apt to strike twice in the same place. 

Their barn, which had sailed down the creek, 
was moved back to its place beside the house ; and 
although the barn had to be entirely rebuilt, 
part of the hay was unhurt, and there, on the hay- 
loft, was little Lysander's kitten, sound in body, 
though disturbed in mind. 

Grandpa maintained that the cyclone had done 
them a good turn, the new location was so much 
more desirable than the old. 

To the best of my knowledge and belief, and ac- 
cording to the latest advices, they are living there 
still, and I hope they always will ; but I think, with 
Grandma Standwell, that when people once begin 
to move . 


By Alice Maude Fenn. 

WAS utterly unpre- 
pared for the sight 
that met my eyes 
when I drove through 
the wide lodge gates 
of Girard College. 
Within a wall sur- 
rounding forty acres 
of land, were nine 

There are two dining-halls, one seating eight 
hundred and the other, four hundred. I know of 
some boarding-schools where the pupils would be 
very much surprised and delighted to sit down to as 
good a dinner as was served on the day of my visit. 
While the roast beef and pudding were rapidly dis- 
appearing, the thought of the orphans in " Oliver 
Twist " came to me. There each boy had a basin of 
gruel and no more, — • " The bowls never wanted 

buildings of white marble, 
the main structure looking 
like a restored Greek temple. 
Half-a-dozen gardeners were 
at work on some magnificent 
flower-beds, and as I glanced 
along the avenues and over 
the perfectly kept lawns, I 
wondered if it were possible 
that nearly fourteen hundred 
boys were ever let loose in 
this great garden. 

Was this the home that 
Stephen Girard designed for 
''poor white male orphans?" 

The playgrounds were 
alive with boys, of all sorts 
and sizes, running, scream- 
ing, playing, or talking to- 
gether in groups. Suddenly 
a bell rang. Every noise 
ceased, and in less time than 
it takes to describe it, the merry boys were all in washing. The boys polished them with their 
file and marching away to the dining halls, in the spoons till they shone again ; and when they had 
most orderly and soldier-like manner. performed this operation . . . they would sit 





Staring at the copper with such eager eyes, — as if 
they could have devoured the very bricks of which 
it was composed ; employing themselves mean- 
while in sucking their fingers most assiduously, 

I 1 

with the view of catching up any stray splashes of 
gruel that might have been cast thereon." In 
contrast to this account, I will cite some items of a 
collation given on the anniversary of Girard's 
birthday ; 900 quarts of ice-cream ; 3480 eggs ; 
350 pounds of lobsters; 18 boxes of raisins; 250 
pounds of almonds; 50 bunches of bananas ; 18 
boxes of oranges. 

But they do more than feed boys at Girard. 
The course of study includes Algebra, Trigonom- 
etry, Geometry, Surveying, Navigation, Chemis- 
try, Natural History, French, Spanish, Book- 
keeping, and Drawing; and, lately. Type-writing 
has been introduced. 

Technical instruction in working in metal and 
wood is also a recent addition. There is no at- 
tempt to teach a trade or to secure a product, 
but effort is made simply to accustom the pupils 
to the use of tools. The Mechanical building 
cost about $93,000, and it is supplied with the 
best machinery procurable. The boys show a 
decided preference for carpentering, over working 
in metal. Even the youngest among them do 
very careful, creditable work. 

Every day the boys spend four hours in the play- 
ground. Each Saturday afternoon in the summer, 

* A literal translation of this Latin inscription reads : " Fortun; 

there is a base-ball match, the college nine play- 
ing against the various clubs of Philadelphia and 
the vicinity. There is much excitement as the 
score of the Girard nine rises or falls, and rous- 
ing cheers from the thirteen hundred eager par- 
tisans welcome every fine play. The club uniform 
is red, white, and blue, and generally eclipses in 
glory that of any opponent. 

Every Friday afternoon the cadet battalion, com- 
manded by its Major, drills in full uniform oppo- 
site the main building. The boys present a fine ap- 
pearance and perform some of their military maneu- 
vers with precision and accuracy. Their uniforms 
and rifles are of the latest patterns and finest make. 
The band is one of the best features, though some 
of the little fellows are almost hidden behind their 
drums, and have to stretch their small legs to keep 
step with the older musicians. In the winter they 
drill in the Armory, which is quite spacious enough 
for the practice of the various exercises directed 
by the Major, in that unintelligible shout used by 
all military officers. 

Close to the main building is a very handsome 
monument erected to the memory of the Girard 
graduates who were killed during the war. Around 
the base are the words : 

Erected, A. D. 1869, 
To perpetuate the memory and record the services of pupils of 
this College who, in the then recent contest for the 
preservation of the American Union, died 

that their country might live. 
" Fortunati omnes ! Nulla dies 

Umquam memori vos eximet aevo." * 

" Especially I desire that by every proper means a pure attach- 
ment to our republican institutions shall be formed and fostered in 
the minds of the scholars." 

This second quotation is an extract, from Girard's 
will, in reference to the educational system to be 
adopted. On Decoration Day the battalion always 
pays due honors to the memory of its brave prede- 
cessors. The monument is draped and decorated 
with flowers, and at noon the cadets form in a 
square, around it. An address is made by some 
prominent military man. 

There is one great objection in the minds of 
many people to Girard College. This arises from 
the fact that the founder directed that no clergyman 
of any sect, for any purpose, should ever pass 
the lodge gates. Therefore every visitor has to 
sign both name and profession before he is allowed 
to enter. There is an amusing story told of a 
stranger who presented his permit and asked to be 
shown over the college. According to the rule he 
wrote his name and, after it, " Minister to Brazil." 
The lodge-keeper immediately looked severe and 
solemn, and remarked: 

"It is a law, sir, of Girard College, that minis- 
ters can not be admitted." 

2 all ye ! No day shall e'er remove you from a mindful age." 



It is an erroneous supposition that Girard made 
this rule because of prejudice against religion, as 
can be proved by an extract from his will, which 
reads as follows : 

I enjoin and require that no ecclesiastic, missionary, or minister, 
of any sect whatever, shall ever hold or exercise any station or duty 
whatever in the said college; nor shall any such person ever be 
admitted for any purpose, or as a visitor, within the premises appro- 
priated for the purposes of said college. My desire is that all the 
instructors and teachers in the college shall take pains to instill 
into the minds of the scholars the purest principles of morality, so 
that on their entrance into active life they may, from inclination and 
habit, evince benevolence toward their fellow-creatures, and a love 
of truth, sobriety, and industry, adopting, at the same time, such 
religious tenets as their matured reason may enable them to prefer. " 

There is a chapel in the grounds where short 
service is held twice every day. A hymn is sung 
and a prayer is offered by the President or Vice- 
President. It is an interesting sight to see almost 
fourteen hundred boys take part in the simple 
service, and join in the hymn as if they enjoyed 
singing. Occasionally, one or two mischievous 
boys have to be suppressed, but as a rule all are 
orderly and attentive. On Sunday a short ser- 
mon is delivered, prominent laymen of the city 
or distinguished visitors making the address. I 
once heard a relative of Livingstone, the great 

Girard, and some have even entered the min- 

The President of the College is undoubtedly the 
right man in the right place. He is young enough 
to enter into the feelings of the boys, and yet a 
man who must inevitably command the respect of 
all. The very expressions of the students as they 
greet him is enough to assure any outsider that 
the pleasantest relation exists between President 
and pupils. He has a wonderful memory, and can 
tell you the name and standing of nearly every 
one of the fourteen hundred boys at a moment's 
notice. The most hardened little offender, whom 
the teachers may find incorrigible, usually leaves 
the President's room softened and sorry, with 
every good impulse strengthened by his quiet 
talk with the man who takes the place of father 
to so many hundreds of fatherless boys. Every 
day the President uses at his own dining-table a 
napkin-ring upon which is engraved, ' ' From a little 
friend." This was a gift from the sister of one 
of the boys as a token of gratitude for the Presi- 
dent's kindness to her brother, and I know that it 
is valued more than the finest that could be bought. 

An applicant for admission to the College must 

explorer, speak at the college. He introduced 
enough stories and incidents to interest and attract 
the boys, and thereby held their eager attention. 
Many of the boys join churches after leaving 

be more than six, and less than ten years of age. 
Preference is given, by the will of Girard, in the 
following order: To the children born in the city 
of Philadelphia ; to those born in the State of 



Pennsylvania ; to those born in the city of New 
York ; to those born in the city of New Orleans. 

The boys remain at the college until they are 
eighteen. They are not allowed to wear a uni- 
form, except as cadets. Each pupil has three 
suits of clothes ; one for "every day," one for Sun- 

and a very few who are really unworthy. Occasion- 
ally some ringleader will incite several of the boys 
to run away. Last winter three little fellows thus 
disappeared, and much time and money were spent 
in tracing them to New York, where they were 
finally discovered, half-starved, forlorn and cold, 


day, and one for visiting. They have fresh linen 
twice a week, over two thousand of their shirts, 
alone, going to the laundry every week. The cost 
of educating, maintaining, and clothing each pupil 
is about three hundred and twelve dollars annually. 
On leaving the institution, every boy receives an 
outfit of clothing of the value of fifty dollars. 

I believe there are two United States Senators 
who were formerly " Girard" boys, as were many 
other now prominent men. The architect who has 
lately been at work on the college also was once a 
student there. Of course, there are all sorts of boys 
among so many ; some who finish their course with 
honors, some who are mischievous and naughty, 

in a soap-factory. Their deplorable appearance 
when they reached the college, for a while de- 
terred even the most adventurous from attempting 
to seek their fortunes in that manner. 

A few particulars about the main building will 
not be without interest. It is a large building in 
the classical Corinthian style; the outer wall is 
formed by thirty-four columns, the bases of which 
are over nine feet in diameter. The columns them- 
selves are six feet through, and each column weighs 
one hundred and three tons, and cost thirteen 
thousand dollars. They are sixty-six feet high and 
surmounted by elaborate capitals. I looked very 
carefully at these capitals when 1 was told that each 



represented one man's work for a year. Little 
huts were built in the grounds in which the carv- 
ers could do their work protected from the inclem- 
ency of the weather. 

After climbing the great marble steps, one passes 
the huge iron door, and stands face to face with 
the statue of Stephen Girard, behind which is a 
sarcophagus containing his body. An Assyrian 
sarcophagus, made for some king, had been sent 
from the East for Girard's body, but his exec- 
utors decided that the simple marble tomb would 
be more appropriate. The two marble staircases 
leading from the hall are of unusual construction ; 
the end of each step is secured in the wall, and 
■only an edge rests on the step below. When a 
party of Sioux Indians, who visited the East some 
time ago, were shown about the college, they re- 
fused to mount this stairway, which seemed to pro- 
ject from the wall without support. 

a-dozen boys hard at work here during play-hour. 
The library is also in this main building. Nine 
thousand volumes and various papers and maga- 
zines, including ST. NICHOLAS, are provided for 
the use of the pupils. 

In the "Relic-Room" is a collection of quaint 
furniture and other things once belonging to Gi- 
rard. His old one-horse gig stands there beside 
a few old pieces of fine furniture, and there are 
piles of boxes containing papers relating to his va- 
rious ships. A story is told of a party of Quakers 
who came to the college, and asked, in the manner 
peculiar to them, — that is, using only the first 
name, — to see "Stephen's old clothes." There 
happened to be a Professor Stevens teaching at 
the time, and so the strangers were conducted to 
his house. There a servant opened the door, and, 
in answer to their query, said: " Mrs. Stevens is 
out, but you can find all the old clothes in the 

THE "graphic room," GIRARD COLLEGE. 

One of the most interesting class-rooms is the garret." It was not until they had climbed several 

"Graphic Room," where the boys "draw from the flights of stairs to behold the cast-off coats of the 

round," that is, from the object, instead of from learned gentleman, that they discovered their mis- 

another picture. The model is placed in the cen- take, and explained that they were not " old- 

ter of a large circular table, around which are two clothes men," but visitors wishing to see the relics 

rows of adjustable desks. I have often seen half- of Stephen Girard. 
Vol. XV.— 33. 




Stephen Girard was a remarkable man, and one 
who certainly holds a place among the prominent 
men of America. He was the son of a distinguished 
naval officer, and was born in Bordeaux, France, 
in the year 1750. When still a little fellow, he 
lost the sight of one eye. He was burning oyster- 
shells in a bonfire, and a hot splinter flew into the 
most sensitive and vital part of his right eye. 


He was a restless, energetic boy, never content 
to remain at home. When he was fourteen his 
father purchased a half-interest in the cargo of a 
vessel, and sent Stephen to sea in the novel ca- 
pacity of half-owner and cabin-boy. At the age 
of twenty-three, he was captain of the ship. In 
1774, he sailed for New York, and, in 1776, first 
arrived in Philadelphia. In the latter place he was 
very successful in all his ventures, and so the 
Quaker City became his home. For some strange 
reason he was regarded with suspicion and dislike 
by his fellow-citizens, who seemed jealous of the 
success of the fortunate and skillful Frenchman. 

He believed strongly in work, for every one, and set 
all his employees an example of steady industry. 

Girard was a man who would not brook dis- 
obedience. He sent a young supercargo to the 
Dead Sea in charge of a cargo, with orders to sell 
it at a port which he named. The enterprising 
young man, finding he could make $6000 more by 
selling his cargo at another port, did so, expecting 
to please his master by his business capability, and 
proudly handed Mr. Girard the extra thousands. 
But the Frenchman, so far from showing delight, 
informed the officer that this disobedience would 
compel him to dispense with his services in future. 

In 1793, the yellow fever broke out in Philadel- 
phia. There were four thousand and thirty-one 
deaths in the city from the first of August to 
the ninth of November. Here the nobility of 
Girard was shown, for when many of the rich 
fled, he remained and performed most humble 
and self-sacrificing offices for the sick and the 
dying, devoting many hours every day to nurs- 
ing in the hospital. In Mr. Ingram's "Life of 
Girard " is quoted an extract from the United 
States Gazette of 1832, in which a merchant re- 
cords that he saw a carriage drive up to a house 
during the pestilence. "A short, thick-set man 
stepped from the coach and entered the house," 
and on emerging from it "his arm was around the 
waist of a sick man, whose yellow face rested " upon 
his shoulder, as he carried the invalid, and the 
sick man's feet . were "dragging helpless along 
the pavement." He was driven to the hospital 
in the carriage of the man whom Philadelphia 
looked upon with dislike. A few years later 
Girard opened a bank bearing his own name. We 
learn from Ingram, that during the war of 1812 
" Girard's bank was the very right hand of the 
national credit, for when other banks were con- 
tracting, it was Girard who stayed the panic by a 
timely and liberal expansion, — and frequent were 
the calls made upon him by the Government for 
temporary loans, which calls were invariably re- 
sponded to immediately." In 1814, Girard risked 
his whole fortune, at a time when all the prominent 
capitalists held back and failed the Government in 
its time of need. 

Girard was a warm friend of Joseph Bonaparte, 
the brother of Napoleon I. They dined together 
very often in the merchant's quiet home in Phila- 
delphia. Prince Murat and Baron Lallemand were 
also intimate with Girard, who had few friends 
among the natives of the country of his adoption. 
When he died, in 1831, at the age of eighty-one, 
the city gave him a public funeral. Flags were 
hung at half mast, and a civic procession marched 
through the streets to do honor to his memory. 

Girard married a lovely Philadelphia girl, who. 



after some years, lost her reason. They had 
no children, which is probably the reason why 
this lonely millionaire formed the idea of leav- 
ing his enormous wealth to benefit children. He 
at first purchased land for the proposed college 
in what is now the heart of the city ; but later 

probably be as many as two thousand in a few 
years from now. 

The estate, from which the college draws an 
income of almost one million dollars annually, con- 
sists of 18,297 acres of land, of which about one- 
fourth are coal lands. The quantity of coal from 


secured the property upon which the college is 

The will contains page after page of most 
minute directions intended to secure the well- 
being of the orphans. The buildings were be- 
gun in 1834 and finished in 1847, and cost the 
enormous sum of nearly three millions. Forty 
years ago the college was opened for the re- 
ception of one hundred pupils, and there will 

these mines, from the time of their owner's death, 
to 1883, was 16,953, 196 tons. The immense block 
of coal, weighing three thousand two hundred and 
fifty pounds, that was exhibited at the New Orleans 
Exposition, came from the Girard collieries. 

I think even this slight sketch of so remark- 
able a man as Stephen Girard will make the boys 
of America agree with me that he was a man 
worthy of respect and honor. 

( From the Rttssian of A lexander Pitshkzn, ) 

By Henry Tyrrell. 

The mighty Oleg of the wars, 

Preparing still for fray, 
Went forth to meet the wild Hasars, 

And their misdeeds repay. 
Bright the Byzantine mail he wore, 
And proud the steed that Oleg bore. 

" Heed thou my words : Thy name is sung 

For deeds of valor great. 
Thy shield in triumph thou hast hung 

Upon Byzantium's gate. 
Thou dost command o'er lands and seas; 
Thou 'rt envied of thine enemies. 

As near the forest's edge he rode. 

He met an aged seer, 
Who in the gloomy shades abode, 

Periin * alone to fear. 
Devout and wise, this hermit old 
The future's mysteries foretold. 

" Upon the wave, in tempests high. 
Thine seemed a charmed life. 

Arrow and lance have passed thee by 
Amidst the battle's strife. 

Thy armored breast did never feel 

Perfidious assassin's steel. 

" Magician, by the gods beloved," 
Said Oleg, " speak my fate ! 
Shall I be soon to rest removed ? 

That joy my foes await. 
Fear not, but say the truth to me, 
And yonder horse shall l^e thy fee." 

'• And thou dost ride a worthy steed — 

Courageous, gentle, proud. 
To battle's storm he gives no heed. 

He courses like a cloud. 
A nobler creature ne'er drew breath ; 
Yet from that horse shall come thy death." 

I fear no prince," the sage replied, 

" And all thy gifts I scorn. 

The tongues of prophets are not tied — 

Their words are heaven-born. 
The future years lie dim in mist, 
But thy clear brow by Fate is kiss'd. 

* Perun, 

A shadow passed o'er Oleg's face ; 

A silence grim he kept. 
Aside he mused a little space, 

Then from his saddle leapt. 
And leaned, with mournful tenderness, 
To give his horse a last caress. 

the Jupiter of Russian mythology. 


Farewell, old comrade tried and true, Years passed. The troublous wars had ceased. 

For we must part at last. Prince Oleg and his band 

Go take the rest that is thy due — Were merry at a mighty feast, 

Thy glorious days are past. Their silver cups in hand. 

Forget me not ! Henceforth my feet White-haired, like some grand snow-crowned hill, 

Thy golden stirrups shall not meet. They talked of glorious combat still. 


" Ho, friend! conduct my horse away — 

I leave him to your care. 
Caparison and carpets gay 

For him, and choicest fare." 
He was obeyed. The Prince bestrode 
Another steed, and onward rode. 

" My horse ! — my battle-comrade bold — - 
Where is he ? " Oleg cried. 
Is he as fiery as old ? 

As full of strength and pride ? " 
They answered, " Long ago his bed 
Upon the grassy hill was made." 


In sorrow drooped the Prince's head. 

" Old sorcerer," thought he, 

But for thy false prediction dread, 

My horse alive might be." 
Then to his followers he said : 
" Come, we will see where he is laid." 

He went, with Igor * by his side ; 

The warriors followed soon, 
To where, beside the Dnieper's tide, 

The horse's bones were strewn. 
Rain-bleached were they, with sand o'erlaid 
Tall feather-grasses o'er them swayed. 

Said Oleg, " On thy lonely bed, 

My comrade, softly sleep. 
No blood of thine, when I am dead, 

* Igor was the nephew and successor of Oleg. t 

:i's DESTINY. [May, 

My ashes cold shall steep." t 
The while his musing thus he kept, 
Upon the skull he lightly stept. 

Unseen, a serpent glided cut ; 

Up at the Prince it sprung ; 
Tightly it wound his leg about — 
Then Oleg started, stung ! 
" Ah, here my peril lurked ! " cried he. 
" My steed has held my destiny." 

Again the foaming cup goes roimd ; 

'T is Oleg's funeral. 
Igor and Olga on the mound 

Sit, while the warriors all 
Below are gathered on the shore, 
Still talking by-gone battles o'er. 

orses were sacrificed on the graves of the pagan Russian princes. 

By John Burroughs. 

I WONDER how many country boys, or how 
many city boys who spend their summer vacations 
in the country, know the ginseng, and have tasted 
its sweet, pungent, aromatic root ? It is in many 
respects the most famous plant that grows in our 
northern woods, because its root brings two dollars 
a pound, and hence it is sought more than any other 
plant. The Chinese believe it has rare medicinal 
virtues, and buy all that is gathered in this country. 
It is said that in China the native root, before the 
introduction of our ginseng, was worth its weight 
in gold. 

In nearly every back-settlement in New York 

and New England may be found one or more 
ginseng-hunters, half-wild men, who support their 
families in a precarious sort of way, by fishing, 
hunting, and looking for wild-honey and ginseng. 
I shall long remember two ginseng-hunters that 
passed my camp in the Catskills near the close 
of a summer day. They paused, and we had a 
little chat. I never should have guessed their 
occupation, nor what there was in their bags, had 
they not told me. They had been roving all day 
in the woods, up and down the mountain-side, 
searching for ginseng. And their search had been 
rewarded by several pounds each. They were both 



armed with a short-handled tool, apparently made 
from one of those long, curved-necked, pointed 
hoes. The hunters had a decided woods-y flavor. 

Last summer, while we were staying in the 
Catskills, we heard of one man at the head of the 
valley who, in a single day, had gathered eight 
pounds of the root. Another man crossing the 
mountain from our house gathered a two-quart 
pail full. My little boy suggested that we might 
go ginseng-hunting. If we did not get more than 
five or six pounds, it would add considerably to 
his bank-account. 

So, one bright afternoon in early September, 
we set out for the mountain. I had never seen 
the growing plant, but felt sure I should recognize 
it from the botanical description. They told us 
at the farm-house that we should be more likely 
to find it in the vicinity of bass-wood trees. Our 
course took us through the pasture, into the 
" sugar-bush," and thence up into the primeval 
forest that still clothes the sides and summits of 
most of these Catskill mountains; sugar-maple, 
the master-tree, easily dominating all others ; next, 
yellow-birch, more shaggy and unkempt ; then 
beech ; and then bass-wood, 
most trim and smooth-shaven 
of all. Bass-wood is a tall and 
stately tree, but it is not of 
the sturdy, heroic type. Its 
wood is soft, softer than pine, 
and decays quickly. The large 
old trees are very likely to be 
hollow, some of them with a 
cavity like that of a great water- 
main. Out of these trees the 
farmers used to make their 
leach-tubs. What countryman 
has not seen a bass-wood 
leach-tub, perched upon a 
broad flat stone, slightly tilted, 
and standing somewhere in 
the rear of the house, or wood- 
pile ? Into its great cavity the 
ashes were put, and, at the 
annual soap-making, were 
leached, and the lye boiled in 
a large kettle which stood near. 

Out of these hollow bass- 
wood trees also has been made 
many a bee-hive — rustic hives, 
as pleasing to the eye as the old style of straw 
hives, and as warm and acceptable to the bees. 
But now one may travel a long way without seeing 
any of these things. 

We scan the ground everywhere for the signs of 
the plant of which we are in quest, expecting first 
to catch sight of its bunch of red berries. Wild 

sarsaparilla, a plant belonging to the same family, 
was very common, but it lacked the scarlet fruit. 
Jack-in-the-pulpit, or wild turnip, attracted us from 
a distance by its red fruit ; but only for a moment. 
Here and there, we paused to look into the open 
door of a woodchuck's hole, but never could tell 
whether the " chuck " was at home or not. In these 
mountains are real woodchucks, not yet enticed 
from the ancient domains of their race to the 
open fields and meadows. They should be wilder, 
more supple, less fat and gross than their cousins 
of the open, and I think they are. These dwell- 
ers in the woods can climb trees. One day while 
walking through the woods I heard my dogs 
barking fiercely, and on going to them found 
they had driven a woodchuck up a pine-tree. The 
trunk of the tree was straight and limbless, but 
the bark was rough. By means of the rough bark 
the animal had climbed about fifteen feet, to where 
there was a single dry limb. Over this he had thrown 
one paw and was thus holding on, and looking 
down at the dogs. His hold was so slight, and he 
was so nicely poised, that I saw he must surely 
fall if nudged a little with a stick, but whether I 


gave him the fatal nudge or not, I decline to say. 

We peered into many openings of hollow trees, 
to discover if perchance a "'coon" lived there. 
In one we kindled a fire; but the smoke found 
no outlet at the top, and came back into our faces. 
Still no ginseng. We were far up the mountain- 
side, beyond the range of the cattle, except in 



seasons of drought. Glimpses of farms and settle- 
ments and villages, in the valleys below us, could be 
had here and there through the tree-tops, but the 
dash of scarlet amid the green that was to guide us 
to the ginseng was yet undiscovered. 

A group of thrifty yellow-birchcs, their straight 
forms thickly hung with rags and roils of thin, crisp, 
paper-like bark, detained us. With a match they 
were quickly singed of their curly locks. Up and 
up leapt the flame, till, for a moment, the main 
branches, and even one tree itself, seemed doomed 

to appear in its bark. Any peculiar flavor or prop- 
erty which it may possess is there concentrated. 

From this point we took an oblique course down 
the mountain-side toward the upper fields, having 
abandoned all hopes of finding ginseng. 

But as it so often happens that after we have 
ceased to look for, or to expect a thing, lo, there it 
stands before us, so in this case, when we were 
within a rod of the open fields, my eye caught the 
brilliant bunch of berries rising from the center of 
three wide-branching, compound leaves, and I knew 


to destruction. But a minute more, and the flame 
is out, and the tree uninjured, save perchance where 
a few of its tender, green leaves have felt the effects 
of the heat and smoke. Further along we find 
another yellow-birch, prostrate, and all decayed ex- 
cept its bark. This was nearly intact and held the 
rotten fragments together, as if it had been a coat of 
mail. We gathered large sheets of it, after ripping 
it open with our knives, and took it home with us for 
kindlings. What virtue there is in a tree is sure 

the plant we were seeking was before us. If there 
was any doubt about it, the sweet, pungent flavor 
of the thick, fleshy root settled the matter. Where 
there was one there ought to be at least another, 
we said, but we explored the locality in vain for 
its fellow. We bore this one home in triumph, 
and its dried root I carried in my pocket for 
months, and whenever I wished to have a pecu- 
liarly agreeable taste in my mouth, I would gently 
nibble it. 

By Alice Wellington Rollins. 

If ever the dread day should come again My heart sinks as I watch them through the glass ; — 
When the whole country needs her boys in blue. And yet I know one thing were worse to bear : 

How could I bear, dear lad, among the men That underneath my window they should pass 
Marching to war and danger, to see you ? And I should look —and find you were not there.. 

Madame Arachne* sat in the sun at her door. 
From a spider's point of view she would have been 
considered a pUimp and pleasing person, but from 
a human standpoint she had perhaps more legs 
than are necessary to our ideal of beauty ; and as 
for the matter of eyes, she was simply extravagant, 
having so many pairs that she could see all round 
the horizon at once. She had built her house 
across the pane of a window in a light-house, and 
sat at her door, in all the pride of possession, pa- 
tiently awaiting flies. The wind from the south 
breathed upon her pretty web, and rocked her to 
and fro. Many tiny midges, small as pin-heads, 
flickered and fluttered and stuck to the web. But 
Madame did not stir for them. 

" Bah ! " she said ; " such small-fry ! Why can't 
a fly of proper size come this way ? " 

The sea made a great roaring on the 
rocks below, the sun shone, it was a lovely 
day. She was very content, but a little 
hungry. Suddenly a curious small cry, or call, star- 
tled her; it sounded as if some one said, " Yank, 
yank, yank ! " " My goodness ! " cried she, " what 
can that be ? " 

Then was heard a sharp tapping, which shook 
her with terror much more than the breeze had 
shaken her. 

She started as if to run, when, " Yank, yank, 
yank ! " sounded again, this time close above 
her. She was not obliged to turn her head ; hav- 
ing so many eyes, she saw reaching over the top 

[* Arachne, pronounced A-rack-ne, was the name of a Greek girl who is said to have been transformed into a spider for presuming to 
contend with Minerva for supremacy as a spinner. From this name the class in which spiders are included is called " Arachnida:'\ 





of the window a sharp, black beak and two round 
black eyes belonging to Mr. Nuthatch, who also 
was seeking his supper, woodpecker fashion, and 
purposed to himself to take poor Mrs. Arachne for a 
tidbit. There was barely time for her to save her life. 
She precipitated herself from her door by a rope 
which she always carried with her. Down, down, 
down she went, till at last she reached the rock be- 
low; but Nuthatch saw, and swept down after her. 
Her many legs now served a good purpose, — she 
scampered like mad over the rough surf;ice and 
crept under the shingles that lapped over at the 
edge where the foot of the light-house met the 
rock, — and was safe. Nuthatch could n't squeeze 
in after her, — he probed the crack with his sharp 
beak, but did not reach her; so he flew away to 
seek an easier prey. After a while, poor Madame 
Arachne crept out again, and climbed to her win- 
dow, looking all about with her numerous eyes 
while she swung. " Ugh ! — the ugly monster ! " 
she whispered to herself, as she reached the pane 
where her pretty house had been built, — no vestige 
of it was left. He had fluttered about in every 
corner of the window, and with wings and feet had 
torn the slight web all to pieces. Patiently Madame 
Arachne toiled to make a new one ; and, by the 
time the sun had set, it was all finished and swing- 
ing in the breeze as its predecessor had done. And 
now a kind fate sent the hungry web-spinner her 
supper. A big, blustering blue-bottle fly came 
blundering against the glass. Presto ! Like a 
flash, Madame had pounced on him, with terri- 
ble dexterity had grabbed him and bound him 
hand and foot. Then she proceeded to eat him at 
her leisure. Fate was kind to the spider; but alas, 
for that too trustful fly! Presently she sought 
the center of her web and put herself in position 
for the night. I suppose she was n't troubled with 
a great deal of brains ; so it did n't matter that 
she went to sleep upside-down ! She was still a little 
agitated by the visit of Mr. Nuthatch, but she 
knew he must have gone to roost somewhere, so 
composed herself for slumber. 

Ah, how sweet was the warm wind breathing from 
the sea ; how softly the warm blush of the sunset 
lay on rock, and wave, and cloud ! She heard a 
noise within the light-house, — it was the keeper 
lighting the lamps in the tower; she heard a 
clear note from the sandpiper haunting the shore 
below. " He does n't eat spiders," said she ; 
" there is some sense in a bird like that ! He eats 
snails and sand-hoppers, that are of no account. 
One can respect a bird like that ! " The balmy 
summer night came down, with its treasures of 
dew and sweetness, and wrapped the whole world 
in dreams. Toward morning, a little mist stole in 
from the far sea-line, a light and delicate fog. The 

light-house sent long rays out into it through the 
upper air, like the great spokes of some huge 
wheel that turned and turned aloft without a sound. 
The moisture clung to the new-made web. "Bless 
me," cried Madame, looking out, "a sea-turn, all 
of a sudden ! I hope I shan't catch a rheumatism 
in my knees." Poor thing ! As she had eight legs, 
and two knees to each leg, it would have been a 
serious matter indeed ! 

At that moment, there came a little stifled cry, and 
a thump against the glass of the lantern high above 
her, and then a fluttering through the air, and a 
thud on the rock beneath. What was happening 
now ? She shuddered with fright, but dared not 
move. She could not go to sleep again ; but it was 
almost morning. 

At last the pink dawn flushed the east, the light 
mist stole away with silent footsteps, and left the 
fair day crystal-clear. Arachne still clung to her web, 
which was beaded with diamonds left by the mist. 
She did not know that Lord Tennyson had writ- 
ten about such a web as hers in a way never to be 
forgotten. He was talking about peace and war, 
and he said : 

** The cobweb woven across the cannon's throat 

Shall shake its threaded tears in the wind no more." 

Her web was only woven across a window-pane 
from sash to sash, but it shook its threaded tears 
in the wind, that morning of late summer, and was 
very beautiful to see ; but not so beautiful as the 
poet's thought. 

She wondered what could have happened, — what 
the sound could have been, which had frightened her 
in the night. She crept to the edge of the window- 
ledge and looked down, — 't was too far, she could 
not see. By her convenient rope, she swung her- 
self down to the rock and was startled at what she 
beheld. There lay her enemy. Nuthatch, stone- 
dead, with his pretty feathers all rumpled, in a 
pitiful plight indeed. He had seen the long ray 
from the light-house top and, dazzled, had flown 
toward it, taking it for sunrise, followed it with a 
rush, and struck his head against the clear and 
cruel glass. That was the end of poor Nuthatcli ! 

"Well, well!" cried Madame Arachne, "upon 
my word, I 'm glad you 're dead ! Now I need n't 
be afraid of you. But what a silly thing ! That 's 
what all creatures do who have wings; — they flut- 
ter and flutter around a light till they are banged 
or burned to death. Better have nothing but legs. 
Who would want wings? Not I! No sensible 
person would." 

Such is spider-wisdom. 

She climbed her rope, hand over hand, and 
reached her airy dwelling. There she proceeded 
to bestir herself in the early morning. High in a 


corner chamber she wove a silken cocoon, white and satin- 
smooth, a shining cradle, snug and warm ; and in it 
laid several hundred tiny round eggs of dusky pink, and 
left them there to hatch when they should be ready. Then she went 
down to her seat in the middle of her web, and watched the weather 
and hoped for flies. 

She saw white sails on the sea, she saw white gulls in the air, she 
saw white foam on the rocks, as she sat in the sun. Days came, nights 
passed, winds blew, rains fell, mists crept in and out, and still she 
watched for flies, with more or less success; till at last out crawled a 
baby-spider to the air, and another, and another — so small they were hardly 
to be seen — till nearly all the eggs were hatched. They stretched their tiny 
legs, cramped from long confinement ; they crept hither and thither, and 
wondered at the big world — of one window-pane ! 
" Good-morning, my dears," said Madame, I hope I see you well ! " 

Every day, from the inside of the light-house, three pairs of childish eyes 
watched thi^ interesting spider-family. As the tiny ones grew larger, 
they began to build for themselves little webs in each corner of every 
pane ; and each small dot of a spider put itself in the middle of 
its web, head downward, like the mother, and they all swung in 
the breeze and caught midges, — which were quite big enough 
for them. 

"Did you ever see anything so comical?" said one child to 
another. " They all behave just like their mother. How quickly 
they learn how to live after they creep out of that little egg, 
\^ which is so small we hardly can see it! How closely all those 
\ long legs must be folded up in such a tiny space ! I wonder if 
all insects know so much as soon as they are hatched ! " 

"Insects!" said the older child, " but a spider is n't an 

insect at all ! Don't you remember how Papa read 
to us once that spiders belong to the Scorpion 
family ? " 

" Oh, a scorpion must be a horrid thing ! " cried 
the younger, " — a real scorpion ! I 'm glad they 
don't live in this country. I like the spiders ; they 
spin such pretty webs, and it 's such fun to watch 

them. They won't hurt you if you don't trouble 
them ; will they, sister ? " 

" Of course they won't," said the little girl's 
re-assuring voice. 

Madame Arachne heard them discussing her 
and her affairs. " They are good enough creat- 
ures," she said to herself. "They can't spin webs, 



to be sure, poor things ! But then these three, at 
least, don't destroy them, as that odious Nuthatch 
did. They seem quite harmless and friendly, and 
I have no objection to them, — not the least. 

So the little spiders grew and grew, and spun 
many and many a filmy web about the old white 
light-house for many happy days. 

But, late in the autumn, a party of merry birds, 
flying joyously through the blue heaven on their 
way south, alighted to rest on the rock. They 
filled the air with sweet calls and pretty twitterings. 
Many of them were slim and delicate fly-catchers, 
exquisitely dressed in gray and black and gold 
and flame. Alas, for every creeping thing ! 
Snip ! snap ! went all the sharp and shining 
beaks, — and where were the spiders then? Into 
every crack and cranny the needle-like beaks were 
thrust ; and when the birds flitted away, after a 
most sumptuous lunch, not a spider was visible 
anywhere. It was one grand massacre, — yet. 

again Madame saved herself, behind a friendly 
shingle; and some days afterward the children saw 
her creeping disconsolately about her estate in the 
light-house window. 

But the little island soon had another visitor in 
the shape of Jack Frost, Esq., who came capering 
over the dancing brine, and gave our poor friend 
so many pinches that she could only crawl into the 
snuggest corner and roll herself up to wait till the 
blustering fellow should take his departure. 

"She 's quite gone," said one of the children, as 
they looked for her, one crackling cold day. 

"Nevermind," said the eldest. "Spring will 
wake her up and call her out again." 

And so it did. 

Now, would you like to know how I happen to 
have found out about Madame Arachne and her 
adventures ? 1 will tell you, dear children. 1 was 
one of the little folk who watched through the old 
light-house window and saw them all. 



By Noah Brooks. 

MOND was his 
name, and he 
lived in a big old- 
fashioned house 
in the old-fash- 
ioned town of 
Fairport, on the 
Penobscot Bay. 
To this house 
there often came 
an old-fashioned 
aunt of the fam- 
ily, Mrs. Dorcas 

Joslin, who resided in Doesport, some eighteen 
miles up the river from Fairport. She was a 
sort of Lady Bountiful, and whenever she came 
to the Redmond House she brought with her 
goodies and queer little knick-knacks for the chil- 
dren. There were eight of these young Redmonds. 
Charlie was the youngest of the whole brood. 

Once upon a time, when Charlie was eleven 
years old, it came to pass that after much discus- 
sion he was allowed to go to Doesport to pay a 
visit to good Aunt Dorcas. The lad had never 
before been away from home in all his life ; no, not 
so much as for a night. The prospect of going to 
Doesport to stay a week was very delightful to this 
small traveler; and when they set out in the old- 
fashioned stage-coach, Charlie's excitement was so 
great that he could hardly sit still. 

I wish I had a picture of the boy as he looked at 
that time, for it would be curious to my readers to 
see how a boy of eleven was dressed in those far- 
off days, for all this happened in 1842. He wore 
low shoes and long stockings. His small trousers 
came to just below the knee, where a white cambric 
ruffle, fastened on the inner edge with bastings of 
thread, made a delicate finish to the legs. His 
jacket was a roundabout, coming down to a point 
behind, and embellished in front with a double 
row of brass buttons, known as "bell buttons," 
shaped exactly like balls of brass. His collar, con- 
fined at the neck by a broad black ribbon, was of 
cambric muslin, very wide and bordered by a full 
ruffle. On his head the little man wore a low- 

crowned white beaver hat, from beneath which 
flowed the flaxen ringlets of a lad who was esteemed 
in his timeas "one of theprettiestboys of Fairport." 

It is needless to tell here of Charlie's happy 
journey to Doesport ; how he caught enchanting 
glimpses of the Penobscot River winding among 
the green hills, and how he saw strange villages 
of which he had only heard, and which had seemed 
to him as far off as Timbuctoo, or Nova Zembla. 
Let it suffice to say that the stage-coach duly 
arrived at Doesport, early in the afternoon, having 
accomplished the eighteen miles of hilly and stony 
road in five hours. 

The first survey of Aunt Dorcas's premises did 
not rouse Charlie's enthusiasm. There was a long 
walk in the middle of a garden in front of the house, 
bordered with hollyhocks and sweet-williams ; but 
outside of these were cabbages and other vege- 
tables growing vigorously. To the small critic's 
taste, this was not nearly so nice as the beautiful 
lawn in front of his mother's house in Fairport. 
Aunt Dorcas's cottage, which he had somehow 
pictured in his mind as very fine, was extremely 
small ; and when he got inside of it he noticed a 
slived and moldy smell, as if the honeysuckles 
and woodbines that covered the house had kept 
out light and air. 

It was a very C[uiet house ; so quiet that when 
Master Charlie went to bed that night, after a very 
unsatisfactory afternoon, he was scared by the still- 
ness. At home, as he knew very well, his big 
brothers were at that hour racketing up and down 
stairs, — making ready, very unwillingly, for bed. 
The Redmond house could not be otherwise than 
noisy at bedtime. Here, it was as still as if nobody 
were alive. It was very lonely. The truth must 
be told, — Master Charlie was homesick. A big 
lump rose in his throat ; and rolling over on his 
face to stifle his sobs he cried himself to sleep. 

Next day, he found to his great disappoint- 
ment that his best clothes were very much in the 
way of his expected fun. His aunt was continually 
calling after him to "be keerful of his clothes." 
Then there was another thing : The very next 
house to his aunt's was so near that the hens be- 
longing to the family, the Peabodys, were con- 




tinually coming over and scratching up the beds 
in Aunt Dorcas's garden. This made the good 
aunt very angry, and her hired man was obhged 
to chase the fowls out with sticks and stones, 
many times in the day. And, after a while, Aunt 
Dorcas with a tone of reproach in her voice said 
she should think Charlie might "spell" Jotham 
(that was the hired man's name) in chasing the 
hens over the fence. To Charlie, who was the 
youngest of eight, this seemed very degrading 
business. He had not been used to chasing hens, 
except in the way of personal amusement. 

And that night, after several unsuccessful at- 
tempts to visit the town, which had greatly 
attracted him, Charlie was sent on an errand by 
good Aunt Dorcas. The Peabody hens had been 
unusually troublesome that day, and Charlie was 
told to go into Judge Peabody's and say to the family 
that unless the Peabody hens were kept at home 
Aunt Dorcas's hired man, Jotham, would be 
ordered to kill them. This was to Master Charlie 
a very mortifying errand. He thought it insulting 
to the Peabody family, and cruel toward the hens, 
who, being only hens, knew no better. 

But he went. Ushered into a pleasant sitting- 
room, he saw a happy family assembled around 
a table, variously employed ; while one — Almira 
Peabody — whom he had secretly admired from a 
distance, was reading aloud. It was a pretty pict- 
ure, and Charlie's heart sunk within him at the 
thought of disturbing it. He awkwardly declined 
the chair that was set for him, mumbling out some- 
thing about having lost his ball over the fence, and 
got out of the house as quick as he could. Aunt 
Dorcas asked him what Judge Peabody had said. 

" He said, ' Good-evening,' " Charlie replied. 

"What else did he say?" demanded Aunt 

" Nothing much," replied Charlie. 

" Well, you are a stupid boy. You go right to 
bed ! " And Charlie obeyed her, nothing loath. 

When Charlie went to bed the next night, he 
thought that the end of his week's visit was a long 
way off. He seemed to have been gone from home 
at least a year. I must confess that Charlie was 
very, very homesick. But, before he again cried 
himself to sleep, he resolved that he would run away 
to home when the town clock struck ten. When 
he awoke again, he was in great perplexity. He 
could not even guess what hour of the night it was. 
Looking out of the window to see if he could 
discover the time by the moon, he beheld a young 
man going down the front walk. This person, he 
guessed, was visiting his cousin, Maria; for Aunt 
Dorcas had an only daughter, a very quiet miss, 
and Maria had a beau. This was he, and as he 
paused at the gate the village clock struck ten. 

Charlie was very much astonished. He had 
thought it nearly morning. 

Dressing himself quickly, and as quietly as possi- 
ble, but keeping his shoes in his hand, the lad 
took with him his little bag (a glazed leather 
satchel in which were packed a night-gown, a 
pair of stockings, a ruffled collar, a tooth-brush, 
and some small pocket-handkerchiefs) and crept 
down the back stairs, his heart beating so that 
all the way along into the kitchen he could hear it 
thump. His hat was in the front entry ; but the 
sitting-room and dining-room doors being open, 
he guiltily stole in, snatched it from the table and 

With eighteen miles between him and home, 
Charlie felt that he must provide something to 
eat. He had not been in the house for nearly two 
days without finding out where the gingerbread 
was kept. It was in a big wooden firkin in the 
dining-room closet. There was a huge sheet of 
gingerbread. Charlie took it, looked longingly at 
it, and then broke it in halves. Half, he thought, 
would last him to Fairport. Breaking this into 
quarters, he stowed one piece under his jacket 
and the other in his satchel. Then he stopped to 
think. He had been brought up with very strict 
notions as to theft, and he felt guilty. He re- 
flected that a sheet of gingerbread could be 
bought in Fairport for five cents, and of course 
some of that was the storekeeper's profit. He did 
not believe that his Aunt Dorcas would be willing 
to take any profit from him ; so, extracting from 
his pocket two large copper cents, such as were 
used in those days, he laid them softly on the 
cover of the firkin, and with a light heart stole out 
of the kitchen-door. 

Over the fence and into an alley in the rear, then 
quickly around the corner into the main street, 
and thence along the river bank and into the high- 
way leading southward, was the work of but a 
very few minutes, and Master Charlie was on his 
way home. The moon was still high in the 
heavens, but the silvery luster made big black 
shadows in the road where there were borders of 
alder-bushes and birches. Occasionally he passed 
a farm-house, dark and gloomy, sleeping in the 
white light of the moon ; or a great barn loomed 
up beside the road, casting a dense shadow across 
his way; or a watch-dog, hearing the patter of 
small feet on the highroad, set up a tremendous 
barking. It was a lonesome journey. Sometimes 
he was sorry that he had started. He was ready 
to turn back; but then he thought of the shame 
of the thing, of cross Jotham, of the Peabody hens, 
and of Aunt Dorcas ; so he kept on. His shoes 
were wet with the dew, and much walking began 
to hurt his feet, for the way was rough. His small 



legs were shaky under him ; but, sustaining his 
sinking spirits with an unsteady and quavering 
song once in a while, he kept bravely on until he 
came to a sign-board at the forking of the ways. 
" Shinning " up this, he read, " To Doesport, 3 m." 
"To Dorbury, 5 m." Then he knew he was still 
fifteen miles from Fairport. It was a discouraging 

The moon was sinking in the west and a cold 
and chilly mist was drifting upward from the river, 
when Charlie, footsore and scarce able to crawl, so 
sore were his blistered feet, found himself unable to 
go any farther. What should he do ? He dared 
not approach any house. He could walk no more. 
He feared he might be picked up and stolen by 
gypsies if he lay by the side of the road. So, see- 
ing in a fence-corner close by the highway a half- 
used hayrick, he crawled over the rails, regarding 
with tearful envy the cows that chewed their cuds 
contentedly in the next inclosure, wondered who 
lived in the red house near at hand, and then, 
cuddling down in a cave-like chasm in the side of 
the hayrick, went to sleep in an instant. His 
sorrows were forgotten. 

It was broad daylight when Charlie awoke with 
a sobbing, soughing noise full in his face. He 
started with a little scream, for he felt the warm 
breath of an animal on his forehead. A stupid 
cow that had been snuffing at this strange figure, 
as she poked her nose through the fence-rails, 
snorted wildly and dashed away from the fence. 
"Whoa! Hoish ! yer blamed fool, Nance. What 
are yer scared on ? " said a voice ; and a good- 
natured, freckled face, surmounted by a ragged 
straw hat, looked over the fence. 

Resting his arms on the top rail, and regarding 
the small and very rueful figure sitting up under 
the lee of the hayrick, dusty with travel, and 
with tear-stained face, Elkanah Watson, Reuben 
Grindle's hired man, simply said : " Well, I '11 be 

Charlie resolutely repressed the rising tears, and 
said : " How far is it to Fairport ? " 

" It 's a matter of eight or nine mile, young feller. 
Be you goin' to Fairport ? " 

"Yes, I am," said Charlie. "And I must be 
pegging away." With that he got on his feet, but, 
cramped by his unusual sleeping-place, and being 
lame in the knees and feet, he nearly fell down 

" See here," said Elkanah, noting the plight the 
boy was in, "you mustn't go no furder till you 
have been fixed up a bit. You 're clean tuckered 
out. What 's your name, anyhow ? " 

" You can call me Jim." responded Charlie. 

"Jim what ? " 

"Nothing," he replied brazenly. "Just Jim." 

" Wal, you come into the house, Jim, and we '11 
see what we can do for you. The folks will be git- 
tin' up right off, and I guess Mis' Grindle will slick 
you up before she lets you go on." With that, 
Elkanah reached over, look the lad by the arms, 
and lifted him over the fence. Then, balancing 
himself on his stomach across the top rail, he 
swooped down and picked up the boy's beaver 
hat, restored it to its rightful owner, putting it on 
wrong side foremost, and again saying, " Wal, 1 'II 
be blamed ! " led him into the red house- 

A bowl of milk, warm from the cow, greatly 
refreshed the little runaway, so that, when Mrs. 
Grindle came down and pausing in the door said, 
" Wal, I never ! " he looked up with an air of some 
amusement. He found himself, for the first time 
in his life, an object of interest. 

" Old Nance found the little chap herself, unbe- 
knownst to anybody," said Elkanah, puffing away 
at the fire that he was trying to kindle in the kitchen 
fire-place. " Mebbe she took him for one o' them 
new-fangled Durhams that they are makin' such 
a to-do abaout, down to Fairport," he continued, 
addressing Mrs. Grindle. And Elkanah giggled 
and gurgled as he blew the kindling flames. 

At the mention of Fairport, Charlie spoke up, 
"That 's where I live." 

"What! You live to Fairport? And what is 
your name ? " said Mrs. Grindle. 

Charlie hesitated. For some reason that he 
never could understand, even in all the years after- 
ward, he thought he must not give his real name. 

" It 's Jim ; just Jim," said Elkanah, grinning. 
" Did ye ever see a boy before with only one 
name? 'Just Jim.' Oh, go 'long with yer non- 
sense ! " 

At this, Reuben Grindle, master of the house, 
came down the stair, his big boots in his hand. 
He regarded the small boy perched on the chair 
with open-eyed amazement, and said: "Why, I 
declare if that is n't Master Redmond's boy ! Be n't 
you Master Redmond's boy ? " 

The boy nodded. His father was a master ship- 
builder, well known through all the country round 
as "Master Redmond." 

" Why, he says his name is Jim," cried Elkanah 

"It's no such thing," said Reuben Grindle, 
sternly. " His brother Jim is a man grown. 
What is your name, youngster?" he asked. 

" Charlie Holmes Redmond," answered the 
child, as was his wont. 

" Wal, I never ! " said the good woman, shocked 
at this youthful depravity. But, as if impressed by 
the idea that he was Master Redmond's boy, she 
took off his stockings and bathed his poor wounded 
feet; then, threading a large needle, and drawing 




the thread across a piece of yellow soap, she ten- "I 've got a pair in my bag. Oh, where is my 
derly passed needle and thread through the watery bag? " he cried, in a sudden panic, 
blisters with which the soles of his feet were " Where did you have it last ?" asked big Elka- 
sprinklcd. nah, who was regarding all these preparations 

" Now, if I only had a clean pair of socks," she with evident sympathy for the tired boy. 

" I had it under my 
head when I lay down in 
the hay-rick." 

" Then old Nance has 
eat it up by this time," 
said Elkanah, but he 
stalked out and soon re- 
turned in triumph bearing 
the little shiny satchel. 
"There 's eatables in it, 
and Nance would have 
chawed it up if she had 
only got at it," said 
the shrewd Elkanah, with 
a very wide grin. 

A wholesome break- 
fast gave the youngster 
new life for the remainder 
of his toilsome march. 
When he had comfort- 
ably filled himself, dur- 
ing which pleasing task 
Mrs. Grindle, aided and 
abetted by Elkanah and 
Reuben, drew from him 
all the particulars of 
his journey and his 
reasons for the same, the 
good woman said : 

"Now, you lie down 
and take a nap. The 
down stage won't be 
here till nearly dinner- 
time, and you look as if 
a good sleep would do 
you good." 

" Oh, I can't ride 
home. I have n't got 
any money. I must be 
going, right off," said 

"Land sakes alive!" 
cried Mrs. Grindle. "Do 
listen to him ! As if 
Master Redmond would 
n't pay your stage-fare 
when you get home, and 
glad enough, too. Be- 
VERY MORTIFYING ERRAND." sidcs, Mose Copp '11 surc 

said, eying with some dismay those that Charlie trust you ; don't you worry about that." 
had so painfully worn all night. They were nearly But Charlie was resolute. He Ji?/^/ nothing more 
past v/earing any more. about going. But, when Reuben and Elkanah 




had gone to work and the good wife was busy 
about her household matters, the lad, watching 
his chance, slipped out at the door and took to his 
heels down the road as fast as he could go, nor 
did he stop until he had put at least a half-mile 
between him and the hospitable house of the 

A few minutes later, Mrs. Grindle, returning 
from her dairy, saw with dismay that he had fled. 

Looking down the highway, she beheld Charlie 
making toward Fairport, which was still many miles 
away. Smiling to herself, she said aloud, "Wal, 
that boy does beat all ! " 

When the stage rattled up, later in the forenoon, 
she went out, having waved her apron as a signal 
to stop Moses Copp, and told him that if he saw 
a small boy limping along the highway, foot-sore 
and lame, he must take him in and carry him to 

" And if he won't go, Mose, you must grab him 
and carry him along, willy-nilly. He 's Master 
Redmond's son, and land only knows what his 
folks will say if you let him go on alone." 

" Oh, I know all about him. There was the very 
dickens to pay, up to his 
aunt's, when they found 
out that he had run off," 
said Moses. " The old 
lady was nigh distracted, 
and I promised her I 'd 
pick him up ; and I will, 
if he don't get to Fairport 
before we do. G'lang 
there ! " 

The stage-driver loudly 
cracked his whip and 
the stage rumbled away, 
leaving Mrs. Reuben to 
follow it with her eyes. 

But Master Charlie 
had calculated upon this. 
He knew that his Aunt 
Dorcas would instruct 
Moses Copp to pick up 
her vagrant nephew ; and 
he was in terror every 
time he heard wheels 
behind him on the road. 
He was determined to walk home, unless his 
little legs gave out beneath him. More than 
once, at some sort of false alarm, he hopped 
over the fences and lay quiet among the bushes 
while a country wagon clattered by. Finally, 
he heard the well-remembered rumble and rattle 
of the Concord stage that Moses Copp so grandly 
drove from Fairport to Doesport. Over the fence 
he went like a flash, lame as he was. And there 
Vol. XV.— 34. 

he lay in a mass of golden-rod, laughing softly 
as Moses drove by, driver and passengers scan- 
ning both sides of the bushy road as they passed 

When the stage reached Fairport, and Moses 
Copp had delivered his tidings to Master Redmond, 
that jovial gentleman only laughed and said: 

" Oh, he 's plucky. He '11 be home by midday." 

But midday came and went, and so did many 
hours after, and no Charlie appeared. 

" Father, you must take the horse and go look for 
the boy," said the anxious mother. Just then there 
was a shout in the rear of the house, toward which 
sloped a long field from the highway on the hill 
beyond. Mother and father, with the brood of 
children at their heels, ran to the back door. 
There was the fugitive, looking very much the 
worse for his long tramp. 

"Oh, I 'm all right!" he shouted, boastfully. 
But catching a look at his mother's anxious face, 
and taking in at one swift glance the beloved home, 
so strange and yet so dear after an absence that 
seemed an age, the little chap burst into a passion 
of happy tears. The loving mother clasped him 

to her bosom, laughing and crying by turns. 
Brothers and sisters stood around rejoicing, and 
half envious of the youngster, who had suddenly 
become a hero. 

The mother dried her eyes and, too glad to think 
for a moment of berating the child, said : " ' For 
this my son was lost and is found.' He has made 
his first flight from his mother, and has run 
away — to home." 

"it was broad daylight when CHARLIE AWOKE." 


By Mary 

My dainty Lady Daffodil 

Has donned her amber gown, 
And on her fair and sunny head 

Sparkles her golden crown. 

The conscious bluebells softly sway, 

And catch the yellow light — 
And violets, among their leaves. 

Breathe low their young delight. 

The sweet old-fashioned almond flower 
Brightens its pallid red, 

I. Sharpe. 

And flings its petals, daintily. 
Over the garden bed. 

Her tall green leaves, like sentinels, 
Surround my Lady's throne, 

And graciously in happy state 
She reigns a queen alone. 

And thus, my Lady Daffodil 
In gorgeous, amber gown, 

Holdeth her court this sun-warm day. 
Wearing her golden crown. 


"^oung TirnotKy Timid is Cautious and- wealthy ; 
He Kas heard that bicycle owners ai^e healtKy. 
/\nd beino hinasel'P but a -vs/eaK- cKe^teci you 
Me bovt^iKt Kim a wheel, - and a beauiy, in. trutk 
J\. pily . he said, as Ke viewed it with pride , 
To 5car it and batter* it learnina to ride : 
J\.rxS. woT-se (what is /iKe/y ) to batteir myselp. 

I cannot do better than. Kire with my pelP 
/Some cycler to vide in niy stead , and be rid 
or all danc^er and worry and worK . So Ke did . 


By Walter Campbell. 

T is now a good many years ago 
since I killed the man-eating 
tiger ; but 1 remember it all as 
vividly as if it happened yester- 
day, and as I write, the whole 
wild scene rises before me, — the 
group of half-clothed natives 
gloating with eager faces over 
the corpse of their enemy, the 
waving palm-trees above, and as for the heat, I can 
almost feel that ! It was far away in Southern 
India, the home of the Royal Bengal tiger, that 
the adventure took place. 

You must know, first of all, that the tiger as seen 
cooped up in a cage at some circus, or in a zoologi- 
cal garden, is very different from the animal as 
he appears in his native jungle. In the circus he 
is so " cabined, cribbed, confined " that he is 
never able properly to stretch his muscles, and 
the roar with which he greets the keeper who is 
bringing his food, resembles the roar with whicli 
he awakens the echoes of the forest, as the piping 
of a tin trumpet resembles the screech of a steam- 
whistle. It is difficult to describe the roar of a tiger 
when he is angry. It is not like the lion's, which 
is more nearly a "bellow," but perhaps you can 
realize it when I say that it is as if a thousand 
tom-cats gave one wild and prolonged "meow." 
Tigers are generally hunted in two ways : one 
is, shooting from the howdah of a "pad" ele- 
phant, which is a comparatively safe method ; and 
the other is to shoot them from a meechautn, or 
platform of boughs fixed in a tree. When the 
latter method is adopted a bait, in the form of a 
bullock, either alive or dead, is generally used to 
attract the tiger; or else the mccchaiim is built 
within range of the place to which the animal is 
accustomed to come for his morning drink. The 
latter is perhaps the commoner way, as shooting 
tigers from the back of an elephant is rather ex- 
pensive work and only within reach of those who 
have long purses. 

It was during the hot weather of 1876 that, in 
company with a friend who was an officer in one 
of the native Indian regiments, I went on a 
shooting expedition for a few days in Travancorc, 

Southern India. We were some days' march from 
any English settlement, and \vere on our way to 
pass the night at a native village, said by our guide 
to be near at hand. We had with us two sowars, 
or troopers, of my friend's regiment, who acted as 
shikarees, or hunters, to beat up the game and 
make themselves generally useful in camp. We 
were not looking especially for tigers, but were 
ready for anything that came ; and we soon arrived 
at the village where we were to pass the night. 

What a lovely place it was, and how cool and 
pleasant it seemed to our tired eyes and over- 
heated bodies ! It was built on the shore of a 
small lake, or "tank," and was shaded by groves 
of palm and cocoanut trees, and altogether there 
was an aspect of peace about it that was very 
pleasing. But when we came near, we were con- 
siderably astonished to hear none of the usual signs 
of welcome. Usually, when a European enters a 
native village, he is saluted by the furious barking of 
innumerable curs, and the inhabitants eagerly flock 
to see the saMb. But now all this was wanting, and 
everything was as silent as the grave. Not a sign 
of the inhabitants was to be seen, and, as we went 
from door to door seeking some one and failed 
to find a living soul, we thought we had found a 
city of the dead. We were about to give up our 
quest, when from one of the huts there crawled a 
man, bent with age. Slowly he approached with 
many sa/aanis, and in reply to our queries as to 
what had become of the rest of the inhabitants, 
informed us that they had all forsaken the town 
on account of a man-eating tiger. He was the 
only person left, being too old to leave his home. 
He informed us that the terrible tiger had visited 
the village three times, and each time had borne 
away a victim. Then the people could endure the 
danger no longer, and all had fled. 

" But, oh ! " continued the old man, " all will 
be right now; the sahibs will slay the tiger, and 
once more the people can come back to their 
beautiful village." We agreed to make at least an 
attempt to kill the tiger, but were considerably 
handicapped by the lack of a guide who knew the 
ground where the tiger generally lay. The old 
man told us, however, that he was momentarily 



expecting a visit from his grandson, who was to 
bring him some rice, and that the grandson could 
fetch some of the villagers to act as guides. Ac- 
cordingly we decided to remain in the village all 
night, and to start upon the tiger's trail in the 

a man-eater in the neighborhood, it behooved us to 
keep the closest watch during the night. In order 
to do this more effectually, we built a big fire and 
divided the night into watches. One of the sowars 
had first watch, and we gave him strict orders that 
he was not to sleep even so much as a wink, for 


Soon after we had encamped, the old man's 
grandson appeared. We sent a message by him 
to the villagers that we were there to slay the 
tiger, and asked them to send their best hunt- 
ers, with a bullock to be used for bait. We had 
our own tent with us, and this we set up on the 
outskirts of the village. Knowing that there was 

his life depended upon his vigilance. A tiger will 
never hesitate to attack a sleeping man, and he 
crawls up so quietly that the victim has no warn- 
ing of the crafty animal's attack until the catlike 
spring is made upon the prey. We ourselves lay 
down inside the tent, previously, however, cover- 
ing the sights of our rifles with pieces of white 




cotton, so that we might have something to guide 
us if we should have to aim them suddenly in the 
dark. It seemed to me that my eyes had hardly 
been closed for five minutes, when I was startled by 
the most unearthly shriek I ever heard. It was but 
one terrifying cry, and then all was silent. But too 


well I knew what it meant. The sowar on watch 
had fallen asleep, and the tiger had pounced upon 

him and carried him off to the jungle. We fired 
our rifles in the direction the brute had taken, not 
with any hope of 
hitting, but trust- 
ing that the sound 
of fire-arms would 
make the beast drop 
his victim. We fol- 
lowed him a short 
distance, and then, 
seeing how useless 
it was to continue, 
in the darkness, we 
returned to camp. 
Early next morning 
we found traces of 
the poor soivar 
close to the camp. 
At one place we 
found his belt, and 
in another his tur- 
ban. We could not 
find the body, and 
the tiger had evi- 
dently dragged it 
into the recesses 
of the jungle. Soon 
after, some of the 
villagers arrived, 

bringing a white calf for a bah. Guided by them, 
we made our way to a place about a mile away, 

close by a stream, 
where they said that 
they had seen the 
tiger's tracks, show- 
ing that he came 
there to drink. He 
was not to be ex- 
pected until even- 
ing; so, after re- 
connoitering the 
ground and select- 
ing in a suitable 
tree a place to build 
a niccchaum, we re- 
In the evening we 
returned to the 
stream, and the first 
thing we did was to 
build the vieechaitJii 
in the tree. We 
did not intend to 
shoot the tiger from 
the tree, but made 
it only as a place in which to pass the night, 
until we could "stalk" the tiger to the spot 




where the bait should be placed. Accordingly 
we tethered the white calf in the middle of a clear 
space, some two or three hundred yards away, 
and when all preparations were complete we 
returned to the mecchauni. You may be sure 
not one of us slept a wink that night ; we were 
far too anxious, and when the very faintest streak 
of dawn appeared we slid down the tree, and 
slowly and carefully crept to where the calf was 
tethered. When we came near, we at first could 
see nothing of the calf, and thought that the tiger 
had carried him off bodily ; but our eyes were be- 
coming better accustomed to the gloom, and as 
it was rapidly growing lighter, we soon discerned 
something white Ij'ing on the ground, and every now 
and then moving a little ; and — yes! sure enough, 
there was something else beside it ! In the East 
daylight comes almost as quickly as does the even- 
ing darkness, and it was not long before we could 
make out the tiger and " the lashing of his tail." 
He was lying full length on the calf's body, and 
evidently, since the calf still moved, had not yet 
killed it. On the other side of the open ground 
there was a dead tree, and I thought: "Master 
Tiger, if I can get behind that, you are a dead tiger, 

and will go to the happy hunting-grounds of Tiger- 
dom." I arranged with my friend that he should 
stay where he was, to shoot the tiger if he turned 
in that direction, while I should steal over to the 
dead tree and try to get a shot from there. I ar- 
rived at the tree all right, and, slowly taking careful 
aim at the tiger so that 1 might hit him right behind 
the shoulder, I fired. " Me-ow-w-w ! " — what a 
roar he did give as he sprang into the air ! I had 
hit him hard, and he faced directly toward me, with 
his eyes glowing like red-hot coals. 

Then he gave one frantic bound toward where 
my friend was standing, but it was his last leap, 
for the short, sharp crack of a rifle rang out, and, 
with a bullet through his heart, the great man- 
eater lay dead ! 

Oh ! what joy there was among the villagers, 
who now came running up. Their enemy was 
dead, and once more they could return to their 
beautiful village. How they danced round him 
and spat upon him, and called the tiger by all the 
abusive epithets in the Indian vocabulary. Then 
they tied the paws together and slung the body on a 
pole, and we all returned in triumph together. 
And so ended my adventure with the man-eater. 


By Mary Lang. 

HO is he? A Polish 
boy only ten years 
old, with a sweet 
round face and 
large dreamy-look- 
ing eyes, who can 
play the piano- 
forte. Many boys 
can do that, but not 
as little Josef does 
— for he possesses that rarest of all great gifts — 
genius; and his wonderful playing has stirred his 
audiences to the greatest enthusiasm, and made 
them feel that they have been fortunate enough to 
see and hear a second " boy Mozart." 

He was born at Warsaw, on the loth of June, 
1877. His father was then an orchestral con- 
ductor and professor of the piano-forte at the 
Warsaw conservatory. Thus Josef was born into 
a musical atmosphere, and we believe he has 

received his entire musical instruction from his 
own father. 

When scarcely six years old he played in pub- 
lic at some of the principal European towns, and 
with extraordinary success. On June 9th, of last 
year, he first played before a London audience. 
While in London he gave four piano-forte recitals, 
and achieved his greatest triumph at the final con- 
cert of the Philharmonic Society by his interpreta- 
tion of one of Beethoven's Concertos — a work 
which tests the capabilities of even a mature and 
experienced musician. 

I wonder if you have ever heard of Charles 
Halle ? He is one of the best living conductors, 
whose band of over one hundred performers is 
celebrated throughout England. He gives a 
series of concerts every season in Manchester, 
and at one of these I first heard little Hofmann. 
The great Free Trade Hall was crowded, and all 
were filled with eager anticipation. Josef Hofmann 




was to perform a Concerto of Mozart's, and 
the audience was not more interested than were 
the artists who were to play with him. A con- 
certo, as perhaps you know, is a composition for 
a particular instrument in which the performance 
is partly alone and partly accompanied ; and to 
render the principal part in a concerto is a task 
that usually is attempted only by artists of marked 
ability and experience. 

Could this be Josef? A dear little fellow who 
looked not more than six years old, dressed in 
black knickerbockers and a white-flannel Gari- 
baldi ? This baby-boy to play Mozart's Con- 
certo? Impossible! 

Not a trace of nervousness or embarrassment 
does he display as he trots across the platform, 
and, with a merry little nod to the audience, seats 
himself at the piano-forte. I can not say how others 
felt; but I fairly held my breath until the first 
movement was over, for the wonder of it quite 
overcame me. 

I shall never forget the scene — the gray-haired 
conductor, the band of experienced artists, and in 
the center the child playing as if imbued with the 
very spirit of Mozart. Each movement was played 
correctly and with true artistic finish. At the 
close, in response to the enthusiastic recalls of the 
audience, he nodded his head to them, as though 
he had not done anything at all wonderful, and 
ran off the platform. 

I must not forget to tell you that when the little 
fellow is seated at the piano his feet do not reach 
the ground, so that the tiny musician is obliged 
to use pedals specially arranged for him, as the 
ordinary piano pedals would be much below his 

In the second part of the programme he played 
alone, — first, a Waltz by Chopin, and then two 
pieces, a Romance and a Waltz, both of these his 
own compositions. 

Was it possible that such tiny hands produced 
that full, rich tone, those delicate turns, those bird- 
like trills? Could it be little Hofmann, or was it 
the Spirit of Music embodied in the child? 

They tell us that he practices for only an hour 
and a half a day. I can well believe it, for, though 
his execution is amazing, no mere practice could 
have produced such results at his age. It is just a 
gift from Heaven for little Josef to play as he does, 
and he plays as naturally as other boys breathe. 

Music is the language in which he speaks. 

He seems such a lovable little fellow, aside from 
his genius, that I don't wonder the Princess of 
Wales, when he had played for her, took his face 
between her hands and kissed him. It is what 
many would like to have done. 

Some one asked if he did n't find Music very 

difficult, and he answered, " Oh, no ; Music is very 
easy, — \>vlI lawn-teiuiis is hard. I must learn to 
play lawn-tennis. " 

He is now in America, and I hope all the Amer- 
ican readers of St. Nicholas who love music 
will be able to hear him for themselves. And music- 
loving boys and girls must not be discouraged if, 
after they have heard him, they feel how poor is 
their own performance, but rather should be in- 
spired to renewed efforts. 

The unstinted praise which heralded the arrival 
of the child-pianist in America, while assuring a 
welcome, also made it seem impossible that the ex- 
pectations of a new public, prepared for a great 
wonder, could be satisfied. 

Every one knew that the little boy could play, 
but there were lingering doubts whether his achieve- 
ments in music had not been over-praised. 

Now, in his own pretty, modest, and charming 
way he has made his boyish nod to the most 
critical audiences of New York, Philadelphia, Bos- 
ton, and Brooklyn, and has convinced the most 
skeptical that he is not an imitator nor an 
automaton, nor a little specimen of precocity; 
but simply a young musical genius, of whom, 
perhaps, even the whole truth had not been told. 
That Josef is a genius, a born musician, the 
American people now believe ; that he is a natural, 
fascinating, and lovable small boy, withal, all of 
his many friends warmly attest. 

By a Fellow- Voyager. 

HOULD you like to know more 
of the great child-pianist ? It is 
not of Josef's genius I wish to 
tell you ; but of the real little 
boy Josef, with whom I crossed 
the ocean in the steamship 
" Aller," and whom I kne\y 

and loved for his bright little self before I won,-''' 
dered at him and admired him for the sake of' 
his music. Indeed, one saw in him none of- 
the precocity one would expect to find in such 
a genius ; he was as much of a rough-and-tumble 
boy as any of you or your school-fellows. When 
I first saw him, he had just come on board 
warmly clad for the voyage in the huge fur 
cap and fur-lined coat in which he has been so 




often photographed. He ran about investigating 
with great curiosity the boat which was to be his 
abode for the next eight days, and chatting in 
German with every one. I soon became one of his 
friends, and his small figure was often the first to 
greet me when I went up on deck in the morning ; 
at that time his low bow and manner of kissing 
my hand were worthy of a small prince, though 
prompted by an impulse most childlike and affec- 
tionate. He showed, however, that he cares little 
for the plaudits and flowers, so often showered 
upon him after a performance, by his remark, 
when a friend on board said he would send him a 
bouquet at his first concert, 
" Oh," said Josef, •' let it 
be a toy instead." He de- 
lighted in games of any de- 
scription, and particularly 
in sleight-of-hand tricks. 
Some one had taught him 
how to insert a coin through 
the small neck of a bottle ; 
he was extremely proud of 
this accomplishment, and 
was always greatly pleased 
when any one asked to see 
it. There were some chil- 
dren on board of whom he 
was very fond, and one 
evening he amused himself 
with drawing an " andcn- 
ken " (remembrance) for 
each of these young friends ; 
one, I remember, was an 
absurd caricature of him- 
self, seated at a huge piano, 
his hair standing out in all 
directions, in a most ridic- 
ulous manner. He became 
so absorbed in this occupa- 
tion that no persuasion was 
strong enough to induce 
him to go to the piano, until 
some one promised to teach 
him a new and fascinating 
card trick. Before the 
fifth day of the voyage, 

the piano had scarcely been heard, and for a 
very good reason, — that which usually controls 
all things in steamer life, — namely, the weather; 
but on the morning of that day we passengers 
all gathered in the saloon to personally test the 
reports we all had read and heard of our young 
friend's genius. Of course, our expectations were 
most fully realized ; his playfellows listened, awe- 
struck by his wonderful playing, and indeed it 
was quite impossible for any not to feel a tender 

reverence for the child-hands endowed with power 
so marvelous. His small feet hardly reached the 
pedals, and, to his great amusement, it was neces- 
sary to call a steward to come and steady his chair, 
as the motion of the ship threatened to dislodge 
him from his seat ; but it never interfered with the 
harmony of his music. 

He gave several of his own compositions, and 
while playing would often speak with some one 
standing near him ; and his sly winks at his admir- 
ing playfellows were most amusing. When his 
short performance was over, he did not care to 
hear our many praises, but soon ran away to his 


play. Music, thus begun, continued all the after- 
noon, and Josef, though most unsparing in his 
criticisms, listened with pleasure to the poorest 
performance. Toward evening he came to me on 
the deck, begging me to go with him into the 
saloon to hear some singing, which he said was 
so bad "das es wirkHc/i amusant war" (that it 
was really amusing). That evening a small con- 
cert was arranged in which Josef's playing was, 
of course, the principal feature. His father sat 




beside him while he played, and only to him did 
the child care to look for a nod of approval — 
which invariably greeted him. Indeed, if you have 
watched closely at one of his concerts, you have 
found that from the time of his appearance on the 
stage, Josef's attention is directed toward a dark, 
intelligent-looking man seated back of the or- 
chestra ; and, though he has those charming little 
bobbing bows of his for the audience, and occasion- 
ally a grimace for his friends among the admiring 
orchestra, yet, to one who knows him, it is easily 
perceived that he considers the true spirit of the 

music to be rightly appreciated only by his father 
and himself. I have been told by his personal 
manager that often, after an apparently most suc- 
cessful performance, the little fellow has burst into 
tears, insisting that he has failed in the true render- 
ing of some composition. 

But all this is not of the boy^ and now I can 
only say, as I did when I saw him descend the 
gang-plank to these (to him) unknown shores 
where he was so soon to gain fame and popularity, 
" May life and renown deal gently with the won- 
derful boy ! " 

By John Preston True. 

Chapter VII. 

It was night ; and the round November moon 
hung poised in space undimmed by mist or cloud, 
an orb of radiant silver, and poured through the 
tree-tops a flood of mellow light. The wind was 
from the south ; it ruffled the waters of the lake 
in sudden flashes edged with blackness ; rattled 
the bare branches overhead, and, sighing wearily, 
swept back into the mazes of the forest the wind- 
rows of dry leaves ,that still were lying here and 
there ; shook the windows in their casings, and 
the loose shingles on the roofs; slammed an un- 
fastened blind fitfully against wall and window 
by turns, and breathed a warmth unusual to the 

In the west dormitory all was still, and half 
the wide windows were open. The curtains were 
drawn back from the alcoves to allow free circula- 
tion of the refreshing air, and now and then the low 
breathing of some sleeper was distinctly audible, 
so quiet was the room ; while the silence within was 
otherwise unbroken, save by the 

Sad, uncertain 
Rustling of some silken curtain,*' 

as the breeze that blew through the open windows 
lifted it for a moment ; or by the unexpected, sharp 
little rattle of a coal falling from an open grate. 
The night guard sat by the grate nearest to the 
head of the stairway, quarter-staff in hand, casting 

an eye around the hall for a moment, and then idly 
drawing geometrical figures in the ashes on the 
hearth. After a brief rest, he resumed his slow 
pacing along the hall, with noiseless feet. 
" Toll-1-1 ! " 

It was the great clock upon the distant tower, 
striking the hour of midnight. 

" Toll-1-1 ! " and each stroke sent a lonely throb 
echoing again and again, from wall to wall, and fly- 
ing out upon the lake to die away in the distance. 

" Toll-l-I ! " and at the last stroke the quick- 
eared sentinel caught the muffled sound of feet 
along a corridor, stood at "ready " with his quarter- 
staff, received the salute of the relief, gave up his 
staff to a comrade, and betook himself to his couch 
and dreamless sleep ; rejoicing in the fact that his 
guard-duty exempted him from rising on the 
morrow at reveille ; while the new sentinel began 
in turn his silent march back and forth, back 
and forth, with a measured tread as regular as a 

In the study nearest to the stairs Harry was sleep- 
ing profoundly, but in dreams was still alert. The 
jar of the swinging shutter had given form to the 
phantom scenes which his mind created, and 
caused him to dream that it was again summer, 
and sunrise, and that from the old fort far away 
across the level lake came the dull boom of the 
morning gun. 

He was still listening to those fancied echoes 
among the distant hills, when he was rudely 




awakened by a terrific explosion that shook the 
building as though it were a house of cards, and 
sent him to his feet with a convulsive start. 

The hurried footfalls on every side, shouts of 
alarm, eager questions, hasty answers, told him 
plainly that it was no dream, while amid and 
above the confusion came a strange, hissing, 
seething noise from the lower part of the building, 
sounding like the rush of water aft from the pad- 
dle-wheels of an enormous steamboat. 

Then came another explosion, and another, and 
another, and another, in quick succession, sharp, 
irregular; and with theory, "It's the chemicals 
in the laboratory,'' the night guards plunged down 
the stairs with the fire-extinguishers. A thick 
column of stifling smoke swirled up from the hall 
below, and simultaneously rang out that which, 
heard at night, is the most startling of all cries, — 
"Fire ! !" 

Were you ever in a hotel at night when such an 
alarm was given ? Do you remember the fright, 
the shrieks, the wild, panic-stricken rushing to and 
fro, the attempts at saving what was not worth 
saving, and the neglect of valuables? Do you re- 
member how insidiously the gushing smoke eddied 
around the corners, and hung in dense clouds along 
the corridors ; and how, through all, was lieard the 
snapping crackle of the flames splitting the tim- 
bers in their fiery jaws? Do you remember the 
set look of deadly terror upon some of the faces 
which appeared like ghosts in the darkness, and 
the dazed, undecided, uncomprehending look upon 
other faces, and the wild eyes of those others who 
for the time had lost all reason? Thus it was in 
the school. 

In an instant the dormitory halls were filled with 
white forms rushing for the stairway, but the throng 
surged back as it met the smothering smoke. There 
was another rush for the windows and the fire- 
escapes, but the crowd was so great that no one 
could gain access to them, and some narrowly 
escaped being hurled from the windows by the 
frantic pushing of those in the rear. There was 
none to direct, none to assist another, but each 
thought hut of himself and fought blindly for life. 
A hundred voices were shouting at once. 

It was all in an instant. When Harry rose to 
his feet his first impulse had been to rush out as 
the rest had done ; the next thought was, that as 
it was November, a little more substantial protec- 
tion than his present attire would be useful. He 
was perhaps ten seconds in dressing, and then he 
hurried out to the stairway. He stopped, aghast 
at the crush around the stairs at the moment. 
Then the throng surged in a solid mass, like a 
school of catfish, to the other end of the hall, and 
jammed helplessly against the windows ; while 

the shouts of the boys in the upper halls were 
added to the cries from below ; and down the upper 
staircase those who could get through the crowd 
came plunging in groups of two or more, to add 
themselves to the mob below. For just one instant 
the lieutenant stood as though riveted to the spot, 
and gazed with horror upon the scene. Then, 
as an upper-hall boy flew past him like the wind 
and clattered down the stairway with flying leaps, 
he turned and sprang with a single bound to the 
recess where hung a great war-gong (which a 
sea-captain and former pupil had sent, as a 
trophy from a piratical Chinese junk). He seized 
the beater. 
" Whang!" 

Even in the panic the habit of discipline as- 
serted itself for an instant, and, all over the build- 
ing, a sudden silence followed, in which could 
be distinctly heard the " crackle-crackle " of the 
flames, mingled with the hiss of the water from 
the fire-extinguishers. In the next breath, Harry, 
ex-lieutenant Rankin, and Dane upon the floor 
above, shouted as with one voice : 

" Fall-l-I in !" 

It was an inspiring sight to see those three young 
fellows, who stood cool and self-possessed in all that 
turmoil and panic, and the blind obedience of the 
dazed, half-smothered throng of boys who tumbled 
over one another as they struggled into line. 

"Fall-1-1 in!" 

Even in their terror they recognized by instinct 
that in discipline was their only hope of safety, and 
the ringing command was the one gleam of light 
upon their darkened minds. 

No more fugitives came down the upper stairs. 

Harry darted into his study for a second and as 
quickly re-appeared by the side of Rankin, who 
stood at the recess by the war-gong ; a quarter of a 
minute later the cheery notes of Aminadab Doo- 
little's fife shrilled out through the darkness, play- 
ing, in double-time, "The Campbells are Coming," 
filling the building from roof to basement with the 
inspiring melody, while simultaneously came the 
stentorian cry of Rankin, the ex-lieutenant, echoing 
from corridor to corridor, " Ri-ight face ! Double- 
iiine, — MARCH !" 

It was heard all over the building, and in the 
dormitories outside, and was so much louder than 
the necessity required, that Dane, in the room 
overhead, broke into a hearty laugh, his fun- 
loving soul recognizing the humor of it, even then. 
It was singular how that laugh, ringing down the 
stair, put an end to the panic. The rapid "tramp- 
tramp-tramp" of feet upon the iron steps kept 
time to the cadence of the fife. The smoke, 
poisonous, laden with death-dealing fumes of the 
chemicals, curled and eddied in stifling wreaths 




about the lieutenant and the disrated officer, but 
not a step moved either from his post. The notes 
of the fife piped on unfaUeringly, and Rankin's 
voice was as steady as ever it was on parade, when 
he ordered the ranks to cover their mouths and 
nostrils before entering the clouds of suffocating 
and nauseous vapors below. But there was a strange 
ringing in the ears of the boys, and a mist gath- 
ered before their eyes. The deadly cloud was too 
much for them, — or would have been, had not 
Dane seen them reeling backward as he followed 
this impromptu command down the upper stair- 
case. Instantly divining the trouble, he threw the 

greeted by a hearty round of cheers ; and there, 
below them, were those who so lately had been 
occupants of the dormitory ; in ghostly raiment, it 
is true, but drawn up in line with all the precision 
of a competitive drill, while three or four of the 
night guard came out from the lower story, one of 
them limping, all of them wet and dripping, and 
reported to the General himself. 
"All out, sir!" 

They did not refer to the fire, but to the boys ; 
the fire, however, by their prompt action was fairly 
dead — but it was an exceedingly narrow escape I 
Harry and the ex-lieutenant sat down upon the 


heavy boots, which he carried in his hand, one 
after the other with such accurate aim as to dash 
out the entire window at the end of the hall ; and 
thus caused a flood of life-giving air to come rush- 
ing through it. Then he passed the loiterers, with 
his men upon the run, flashing back a swift : " Keep 
it up, fellows," as he went, that brought back their 
senses as only a cheery, inspiring word can. 

But how long it seemed before the sergeant at the 
end of the last file passed them, and they could 
take their turn ! In reality, it was just one minute 
since the first notes of the fife. And as they 
stepped out upon the fire-escape, instead of descend- 
ing by the stairs, they were astonished at being 

landing of the fire-escape, instead of descending, 
and leisurely surveyed the scene. 

" Did you ever see such a looking crew. Harry?" 
asked Rankin, with a chuckle. "This will go 
down to posterity as the ' great un-dress parade.' " 

But Harry could not laugh ; he was too much 
excited. He wished to find Dane, one of whose 
Ijoots he had picked up on the fire-escape ; so he 
rapidly swung himself down the ladder, and reach- 
ing the "jumping-off place," let himself drop. It 
was this gap that had determined Rankin to send 
the boys down by the stairway, in preference, so 
long as the stairs were not actually in flames. 
He had taken command because Harry could not 



give orders and play the fife, too, and he was very 
doubtful whether the General might not now re- 
gard this as presumptuous since he was a private. 

But the General met them at the foot of the 
ladder ; he had already heard all about it. 

Regardless of etiquette, the old martinet grasped 
their hands and squeezed them until the boys 
winced, his face glowing with satisfaction. He was 
proud of his boys, and of the triumph of discipline. 
Without saying a word, he grasped Harry and 
Rankin by their shoulders and marched them over 
to the front of the line of boys, paused a moment, 
and said briefly : 

"Company — attention ! Acting-Lieutenant Wy- 
lie's commission is hereby made permanent, and 
he will be appointed to special duty. Private 
Rankin, for conspicuous bravery, is hereby restored 
to his former rank of Second Lieutenant. Break 
ranks, — march ! " 

And those nearest to the General always declared 
that the light which glistened in his eyes was the 
reflection of moonbeams upon tears. 

Chapter VIII. 

" Break ranks, — march ! " 

Can you not imagine how with shouts that woke 
the echoes, the boys r ished for the dormitory and 
dispersed to their rooms ? Harry found Dane, 
and surrendered the boot with a word of hearty 
thanks ; and the twain, with Rankin,— now flushed 
and proud over his recent restoration to rank, — 
peered inquisitively into what was left of the labo- 
ratory. The fire was confined to the laboratory- 
room, and an immediate consequence was the 
transfer of that institution to a small building at a 
safe distance from the rest. 

Dane himself was particularly happy, and rather 
silent, over something that the General had said to 
him ; and, for once, did not remark that he had 
been "born without any ideas, worth consider- 

The attractions of the ruins were not great at 
one o'clock in the morning, however ; the scene 
was nearly shrouded in darkness, with broken 
glass underfoot, charred timbers to rub against, 
and a wet burnt-wood smell, mixed with various 
"quaint and curious" odors (for the most part 
unpleasant) arising from the remains of destroyed 
chemicals which originally had not been intended 
for such wholesale compounding. 

"It 's like the famous 'city of Cologne,'" said 
Rankin, holding his nose. " I shall smell all sorts 
of horrible things for the next week; come, we '11 
go inside." 

" It 's lucky that there was n't any nitro-glycerine 
in there, or we should all have been turned into 

shooting-stars ! " answered Harry, as he turned 
away. "Just hear the fellows upstairs ! " 

It was evident that, as yet, f/iejhad no intention 
of going back to bed, judging by the noise ; and, 
for once, the powers that be were inclined to be 
lenient and overlook it. 

The boys gathered around the fire-places in 
knots; and, in spite of the cold air rushing in 
through the broken window, but few had put on 
more clothing than they had worn through the 
fracas. They were still too much excited to shiver, 
although it would have been but common prudence 
to guard against colds without delay; but sleep 
was out of the question so soon after such excite- 
ment, and it is hard to say what evils might have 
arisen had not the little Doctor suddenly appeared 
with a pile of towels on his arrn and carrying a pail 
of water. Short, curly-headed, quick-spoken, he 
took his stand by the gong, and shouted : 

" Let every officer, of whatever grade, come here 
at once ! " 

There was a rush for the Doctor instantly, while 
the privates ceased conversation and curiously drew 
near. Dane was the first officer to reach him, and 
the Doctor, dipping a towel in the water, thrust it 
into his hand. 

"Sergeant Dane — Lieutenant Wylie — officers 
in general ! — take a towel apiece, soak the end in 
the water and wring it out." 

A dozen officers at once reached for towels and 
crowded around the water-pail, nearly upsetting it 
in the turmoil; and, for a moment, the dignified 
officers were to be seen wringing out wet cloth like 
Bombay washerwomen, while still the unsuspect- 
ing privates looked on with amused curiosity. 

" Now, have all of you towels ? You that have, 
gc for the rest ! If any student wants one he knows 
where to get it," he added, holding up a handful. 

Such a shout went up ! 

" Gi' me a towel ! " "And me!" "Andine!" 
A mob rushed upon the little Doctor. 
Wylie jumped to the front, swinging the damp, 
heavy cloth. 
" Charge ! " 

And whack ! came the wet towel over the fore- 
most head ; and whack ! — whack ! — whack ! — 
went the towels of the other officers amid a pande- 
monium of shrieks and yells and laughter. 

Straight through the crowd charged the officers, 
with Wylie at their head, even as Richard the 
Lion-hearted with his armed knights was wont to 
cleave a way through the ranks of turbaned Sara- 
cens; and backward, sideways, swayed the privates, 
dodging, jumping, falling, scrambling, — any way to 
escape the stinging blows, — snatching towels from 
the merry Doctor and, armed in turn, rushing into 
the writhing fray. A dozen or more of the privates 




combined, and made a rush at Dane, Harry, and 
Rankin, who, nothing loath, stood back to back, at 
bay in the center of the ring. Each guarded a quar- 
ter-circle, and around their feet lay towels jerked 
from the incautious hands of would-be assailants 
who in vain tried to regain them, being unable to 
face the startling whacks of the heavy towels swung 
by the practiced fencers. Three other officers 
guarded a corner, two more held a window-seat 
against all comers ; for the privates outnumbered 
them ten to one ; and, once more to recall feudal 
times, a thought flashed into Harry's mind that this 
was not unlike a scene in the hall of some castle 
which has been besieged and overpowered, when 
the few remaining defenders have gathered to 
make a last stand ; knights fighting against men- 
at-arms, not hoping for their lives, but with the 
grim, Norman determination to make their deaths 
costly to the foe. This fancy gave an impetus to 
his arm, a force to his blows that caused his quarter 
of the circle to be avoided by all save the most 
daring. And these kept cautiously out of reach, 
craftily endeavoring to entice him beyond his post 
and thus expose the others ; but he instantly saw 
through their stratagem. 

" Keep close, fellows," he said, speaking over 
his shoulder. " If they get between us we shall 
catch particular fits ! " 

And the trio stood close. But what craft could 
not accomplish accident brought about ; for it hap- 
pened that Dane and Harry struck out at the same 
instant, and as they swung back their towels for a 
new blow, the weapons became lovingly entwined, 
and Harry's blow was so much the stronger that 
in the twinkling of an eye Dane found himself flat 
upon his back, with his shoulders feeling out of 
joint, and a miyriad of blue and white stars scintil- 
lating before his eyes as the blue-flashing elec- 
tricity gleams around a dynamo. 

Twenty towels arose in the air, heavy as blud- 
geons ; the ring broke and closed in with shouts 
of exultation ; but Harry took one step backward, 
and standing across Ed's prostrate form, forced all 
back, again and again, while Rankin coolly guarded 
his quarter-circle as before. The ring became 
formed again, and there was a pause in the strife : 
Harry glanced around for a moment, and then 
bent forward to assist Dane to rise. As he did so, 
Mitchell stepped suddenly up from behind and 
swung his towel around his head. Thud ! 

Harry Wylie fell forward over the bod)' of his 
friend without a word. 

There was a loud laugh, a hiss or two, and then 
a rush. But Harry did not rise. Some one quickly 
seized Mitchell's towel, which seemed to hang very 
heavily, — a lump of sea-coal was found to be 
knotted into the end ! 

Elsewhere around the hall the fun was still seeth- 
ing, fast and furious. Only in that little knot in 
the center was there rest, like the still calm that 
marks the center of a cyclone, the hollow core 
around which wheel the lightning winds. 

No one noticed them save to rub against them 
by accident and to fly spinning off at a tangent. 
The building shook and trembled under rushing 
feet, the alcoves echoed and re-echoed, the ewers 
and pitchers in the sleeping-rooms rattled and 
clattered against one another, and now and then a 
faint crash told of the fall of some insecure orna- 

The little Doctor still stood by the recess, with 
hands clasped behind his head, watching the frolic 
with twinkling eyes and a general air indicating 
that he, too, should enjoy nothing more than to 
grasp a towel and rush in among them. But the 
instant that his quick eye caught symptoms of im- 
pending trouble, — the flash of an angry glance, 
the doubling of a fist, — he stepped backward to the 
great gong and swung the beater lustily around his 

"Whang! !" 

At the stroke every voice was silent, every form 
motionless ; as though the Doctor had been another 
Perseus and had held aloft the Gorgon's head. 
Even those upon the floor made no attempt to rise, 
but sat there, panting. 

"Let each boy drop his towel just where he 
is! " the Doctor shouted. " Into your beds, every 
one of you, while you are warm, and, if you don't 
have colds in the morning, thank your stars that 
your physician is an Irishman ! — Man-Ji!" 

" Hurrah for the Donnybrook Doctor ! " shouted 
a private in the rear, amid a roar of laughter, as 
they scuttled toward their beds, save three or four 
in the center of the room, two of whom were 
holding Mitchell, each grasping a wrist with one 
hand, and holding the other hand upon his shoul- 
der in threatening proximity to his throat. 

Harry was just struggling to his feet, a little 
dazed from the heavy blow, but not much hurt, 
for his thick hair and the towel acted as cushions 
to deaden its force. 

"Let him go, fellows, quick! don't bring the 
Doctor down ! " he whispered, hastily. "Oh, con- 
found it ! it 's too late," for the little man was 
striding down toward them with rapid steps. The 
boys loosed their hold upon Mitchell, however, 
and wlien he reached them they were adjusting 
some buttons, in the most innocent manner, while, 
as the only light in the hall, sa\'e the glow of the 
grates, was the feeble moonlight, their faces were 
not tell-tales. 

" Why do you not obey orders, Wylie.'"' said 
the Doctor, a little sternly. 




" If you please, sir, Ed and I have a few bumps, 
and we would like an examination," and Harry 
gingerly felt of his own cranium, on which, to 
judge by external appearances, the organ of ven- 
eration had suddenly doubled in size. 

"Have you been fighting?" asked the Doctor, 

" No, sir; there has n't been any fight, — rough 
handling, that 's all. And I would like to have 
Ed stay with me for the night — what 's left of it — 
if he may. " 

Mitchell slipped away, thoroughly ashamed of 
himself. The Doctor prescribed cold water for the 
bumps, and gave the desired permission, satisfied 
that while something was concealed, it was wise 
to avoid looking deeper, and went his way to re- 
port "all quiet," to the principal, who was still in 
the library with the General. The preceptor list- 
ened to Doctor McCarthy's report with a twinkle 
in his eye and an amused smile. 

"I 'm afraid that there will be a big washing- 
bill next Monday," he observed. 

"Better that, than a bill at the apothecary's," 
the physician answered, stoutly, while the General 
rubbed his hands in satisfaction over the vindica- 
tion of strict discipline afforded by the night's 

(To be L 

In the dormitory, the two wounded heroes, instead 
of sleeping, discussed matters, with wet bandages 
around their heads. Dane was of the opinion that 
Harry ought to report Mitchell's attack; this was 
decidedly opposed by Harry. 

"1 'm not going to preach, but you would n't 
do it yourself, if you were in my place, old fellow. 
Do you remember what my mother wrote in your 
autograph album ? " 

Ed did ; and he was glad that the darkness hid 
the flush in his face as he thought of the sweet- 
faced lady with gentle voice who had treated him, 
a motherless boy, with almost the same care and 
affection that she had lavished on her sons and 
daughters; guiding and advising as though he 
were indeed her son, and not a neighbor only. 
Besides, — what would Harry's sister. May, think, 
if she knew what advice he was giving to her 
brother ? And May, being four years his senior, 
was looked up to by Ed as a superior being. 

He remembered how she had read those verses 
to him after her mother had written them, and 
seemed again to hear the voice whispering them 
softly in the darkness. They were simple words, 
perhaps, — only a stanza with a brief refrain ; but 
their burden of thought was the old-time watch- 
word, " A^t'i^/^j'i'^ 

I tinned. ) 


Oh ! 't is bland, and oh, 't is bloomy, for it 's 

Could there be a more delightful season 
pray ? 

How the sunbeams skip and scatter. 
And the sparrows chirp and chatter. 
And the sweetly scented breezes softly 
stray ! 

And we 're gladsome, and we 're gleeful, and 

we 're gay. 
And we 're highly happy-hearted. 
For we 're blithely, briskly started 
For a joyful, jocund, jolly holiday. 

And oh, 't is glum and gloomy, though 't is 
May ! 

Could there be a more distracting season, say? 

We must hustle, we must hurry. 

In a flutter and a flurry. 

For the sky is direly dark and grimly gray, 

And we '11 have to hasten home the shortest way ; 

And we scuttle and we scamper ! — 

What a doleful, dismal damper ! 

What a dreary, drizzly, dreadful holiday ! 


4 >^'. 'A'ft^>f5,>M ff'i?*^'' 



By John Preston True. 

The readers of the St. Nicholas have met 
with a great loss. Before this is read by you, the 
telegraph will have carried the sad news far and 
near that our dear "Aunt Jo" has passed away. 
How many happy hours are due to her ! How 
many young lives are the better, and braver for 
the words she wrote, and the examples of her little 
men and women ! There will be many a story 
told of her own unselfish kindness; but I wish to 
let her own words once more speak for themselves, 
feeling sure that the advice which so met the needs 
of the country boy, for whom they were first writ- 
ten, will be of equal value to other boys and girls, 
who would follow in her footsteps. 

Once, in the audacity of youth, I wrote to Miss 
Alcott a letter, the tenor of which is indicated by 
her prompt, characteristic reply, herewith shown 
you. It may help some of you young people as 
it did me. 

Concord, Oct. 24th. 

J. P. True: 

Dear Sir : I never copy or " polish," so I have 
no old MSS. to send you, and if I had it would be 
of little use, for one person's method is no rule for 
another. Each must work in his own way, and the 
only drill needed is to keep writing and profit by 
criticism. Mind grammar, speUing, and punctua- 
tion, use short words, and express as briefly as you 
can your meaning. Young people use too many 
adjectives and try to "write fine." The strong- 
est, simplest words are best and no foreign ones 
if it can be helped. 

Write and print if you can ; if not, still write and 
improve as you go on. Read the best books and 
they will improve your style. See and hear good 
speakers and wise people, and learn of them. 
Work for twenty years and then you may some 
day find that you have a style and place of your 
own, and can command good pay for the same 
things no one would take when you were unknown. 

I know little of poetry, as I never read modern 

attempts, but advise any young person to keep to 
prose, as only once in a century is there a true 
poet, and verses arc so easy to do that it is not 
much help to write them. 1 have so many letters 
like your own that I can say no more, but wish you 
success and give you, for a motto, Michael Angelo's 
wise words : Genius is infinite patience. 

Your friend, L. M. Alcott. 

P. S. — The lines you send are better than many 
I see, but iDoys of nineteen can not know much 
alDout hearts, and had better write of things they 
understand. Sentiment is apt to become senti- 
mentality, and sense is always safer as well as 
better drill for young fancies and feelings. 

Read Ralph Waldo Emerson, and see what good 
prose is, and some of the best poetry we have. I 
much prefer him to Longfellow. 

Years afterward, when I had achieved some 
slight success, I once more wrote, thanking her 
for her advice ; and the following letter shows the 
kindliness of heart with which she extended ready 
recognition and encouragement to lesser workers 
in her chosen field. 

Concord, Sept. 7, '83. 

My Dear Mr. True: Thanks for the pretty 
book, which I read at once and with pleasure, for 
I still enjoy boys' pranks as much as ever. 

I don't remember the advice I gave you, and 
should judge from this your first story that you did 
not need much. Your boys are real boys, and the 
girls can run, which is a rare accomplishment now- 
a-days, I find. They are not sentimental either, 
and that is a good example to set both your brother 
writers and the lasses who read the book. 

I heartily wish you success in your chosen work, 
and shall always be glad to know how fast and how 
far you climb on the steep road that leads to fame 
and fortune. 

Yours truly, L. M. Alcott. 

Vol. XV. — 35. 



By Yan Phou Lee. 

" Birds of a feather flock together." In China, 
shops of a certain kind will be found side by side. 
If you will walk with me through a long avenue 
in my native place, you will find the dry-goods 
stores, where all sorts of silk, woolen, and cotton 
cloth are sold, at one end of the street, with possi- 
bly a book-stall or pharmacy sprinkled here and 
there between, and the shops which deal in food 
at the other end. 

Let us take our basket and hand-scales and walk 
through a real Chinese market. You will need 
the scales, if you don't wish to be cheated by some 
of the rascally dealers. Human nature is the 
same there as elsewhere, you know ; and you 
must take away the temptation to sin. I dare say 
that very few will give you short weight willfully, 
but it is just as well to provide against mistakes, 
and you see that almost every buyer is similarly 

The scales are a simple affair, being a polished 
and graduated wooden rod, dotted with brass pegs 
which mark off the ounces and " catties" (about ij^ 
lb.) and having two hooks fastened to the larger 
end. The goods to be weighed are fastened to 
the hooks, and an iron weight is put on the other 
end, and so placed as to balance them. 

Thus doubly armed, with scales and alertness, 
let us follow the crowd through the narrow 
thoroughfare. You notice that the street is paved 
with long granite slabs, worn smooth by the tread 
of thousands of pedestrians for many years. It is so 

narrow that you may conclude that horse-teams are 
not supposed to pass through. Indeed, there are 
no carriages and wagons to be found in southern 
China, except in the foreign settlements. But 
occasionally a sedan-chair passes by, to which )'ou 
must yield the right of way. 

The shops open upon the street, and all their 
wares are displayed to the best advantage. The 
meat markets are rather dark-looking and un- 
pleasant within, for there they not only sell their 
meats, but slaughter the animals on the spot and 
roast them as well. The butchers stand behind a 
long table facing the street, and sell you Iamb, or 
mutton, or pork, and sometimes venison, — all 
raw, or roast pork, roast chicken and roast duck, 
in any quantity you may desire. 

The way the meats are roasted may be of some 
interest. After the animals are slaughtered and 
well cleaned, inside and out, they are hung on 
iron hooks. The oven is of brick, very large, and 
about four feet high and three feet in diameter 
at the top, and is now heated red-hot by a blaz- 
ing wood-fire. The animals are put in the oven 
after the wood is burned down to coals, and sus- 
pended by means of iron rods across the top, 
which is then tightly covered up, as is also the 
draught. You would be surprised to see how 
quickly the meats are roasted. It takes hardly 
fifteen minutes for them to be thoroughly cooked, 
and ready for sale. The meats thus roasted are 
delicious. The skins turn red and those of pigs 




are very crisp. Cut half a pound, or a quarter if 
you wish, and pay fifty or twenty-five cash, which, 
respectively, equal five and two-and-a-half cents 
of American money. The mottoes pasted up in 
this and other shops are suggestive : " We cheat 
neither young nor old ; " " May wealthy customers 
visit us often ; " " As fast as the wheels may our 
goods circulate;" '-May wealth increase in m\ 

Each shop has, usually under the tal:)le or 
the counter outside, a 
shrine dedicated to the 
God of Wealth, before 
which incense is burn- 
ed morning and even- 
ing ; and on the first 
and fifteenth of each 
month, when offerings 
of food also are made, 
candles are burned he- 
fore it. 

Dried fish of many 
kinds are sold in the 
stores, but fresh fish, 
and sea-food generally, 
are usually sold by 
men who bring them 
from a great distance, 
early in the morning 
or the afternoon, in 
baskets. Behind these they squat, and hawk their 
wares in loud tones. That is the reason why a 
Chinese market is so noisy and animated. You 
ask the price of shad, for instance, or of crabs, and 
the dealer raises the price of an ounce by so many 
cash, which you have to beat down. What Adam 
Smith called the "higgling of the market," exists 
here in its perfection. After wasting considerable 
time in talking and splitting differences, you at last 
decide to buy, or the trader concludes to sell. 
But however much you may congratulate yourself 
on having made a good bargain, you can not be 
certain that others may not make much better 
bargains with the same man. Vegetables are sold 
by other dealers, and the same process must be 
gone through before you can make a fair purchase. 
Grocery stores are plenty, and there you will find 
on sale nil sorts of sauces, preserves, sugars, and 
so forth, in fact whatever is dealt in by grocers in 

Beef is not often eaten by the Chinese, on ac- 
count of their religious scruples, most of them being 
tinged, more or less, with Buddhism, but espe- 


cially because the ox is used in ploughing. Occa- 
sionally you will find a stall for the sale of beef. 
Through the same prejudice, little cow's milk is 
used by the people, and that little is made into 
thin cakes, v/ell salted, to be taken as a relish. 

But a kind of cheese is made of bean curd. The 
beans are ground in hand-mills and dissolved in 
water, then strained and steamed. The result is a 
perfectly white cake, something like blanc-mange. 
It is eaten with shrimp sauce. This cake is also 
dried. There is also a sauce made from beans. 

You perhaps wonder why 1 have not described 
the cats, kittens, and dogs, which are said to be 
the conimon food of the Chinese people. The 
reason is because no such things are to be found in 
the market. In fact, I know of no place where such 
articles of food can be had, exce'pt in a low part 
of Canton, where people who are almost starved 


will buy almost anything to sustain life. The 
Chinese people live on wholesome food, as you 
will learn from good authorities. They eat rice as 
you eat bread. They make cakes of wheat, too. 

Potatoes, cabbages, greens, melons, and the 
various cereals, are raised in great plenty and sold 
comparatively cheaply. The reason why things 
are sold so cheaply there, compared with the prices 
in America, is because gold and silver, being 
wholly imported, are very dear. Prices will rise 
there quickly enough as soon as they have ex- 
changed their tea and silk for a great quantity 
of those metals. 


Words by Mary J. Jacques. 


Music by T. C. H. 


I. In the breez-y sun - shine, On the dew - y grass, 


PedT" ^ *■ ^ ^ ^ 

I p 

Here she tip - toes reach - ing. 



There she spreads for bleach - ing. 


/ • 


Dain - ty danc - ing lass, 
4 1 

Dain - ty danc - ing lass. 


When the sunny breezes 

Made her washing white, 
Wrapping, smoothing, holding. 
Sprinkling, rolling, folding, 
Comes the busy sprite. 


Passes and repasses. 

Folds so deftly laid, 
Now the iron sliding. 
Passing now and biding, 
She's a sonsy maid. 


By G. a. Woods. 

Not many years ago there lived a young girl 
who was exceedingly fortunate. 

Her home had massive walls and towers, with a 
great dome, beautifully ornamented, through which 
the hght came with ever-changing effects. She had 
a large fortune, and among her jewels were, a 
golden crown that no one could imitate, a very 
large diamond, and a great many smaller ones. 
There was, besides, a great gold locket, with a 
picture in it ; while she had more pearls than she 
could use. 

Surrounding her home was an immense park 
that abounded in wild game and beautiful trees 
and flowers. Every one who came to see her 
brought a precious gift. Some even brought her 
everything they had to give. Every year she took 
a long journey and saw the most beautiful sights. 
Her traveling trip never tired her in the least. 

Would you not like to have been in the place of 
this fortunate young girl ? 

In that same locality there lived a girl who, 
you will think, had a hard time of it. 

She lived in a log-hut in the woods, and dressed 
in coarse clothes. She had to work hard, for her 
mother was ill a great deal of the time ; and as 
she was an only child, a large part of the household 
duties fell to her. Then every day she had to 
search the woods for their cow, and milk her ; and 
in their season she had to gather blackberries and 

raspberries and blueberries to help out their scanty 
supplies. Would you not dislike to have such a 
fate ? How much rather you would live like the 
first girl I spoke of! But what would you say if I 
should tell you they both were one and the same 
person ? Let us see how that may be. 

The massive walls and towers of which I spoke 
were the grand, high mountains around her valley- 
home ; and the great dome was the sky, which 
was just as much hers as if it had been created 
especially for her. Her great fortune consisted of 
youth, health, sunshine, pure air, good looks and 
good nature, flowers and fruits, and a thousand 
and one of the best things of this world. 

That golden crown you will guess to have been 
her beautiful golden hair, of which 1 am afraid she 
was a little vain. Her diamonds were the sun and 
stars, and she never worried for fear they should 
be stolen. Her golden locket was the moon, and 
the picture the one we all can see in it. Her 
pearls were dewdrops ; the precious gift that every 
one brought was love, and this she well deserved. 
The long journey she took every year was the 
wondrous journey around the sun to Springland, 
Summerland, Autumn, and back to icy Winter. 
Every night revealed new glories in the heavens ; 
every morning brought renewed life and health. 

Now, if you wish a moral to my story, search 
carefully, and perhaps you may find it. 


By Margaret Eytinge. 

LITTLE girl one day in the month of May dropped a morn- 
ing-glory seed into a small hole in the ground and said : 
" Now, Morning-glory Seed, hurry and grow, grow, grow 
until you are a tall vine covered with pretty green leaves 
and lovely trumpet-flowers." But the earth was very dry, 
for there had been no rain for a long time, and the poor 
wee seed could not grow at all. So, after lying patiently 
in the small hole for nine long days and nine long nights, it said to the 
ground around it : " O Ground, please give me a few drops of water to 
soften my hard brown coat, so that it may burst open and set free my two 
green seed-leaves, and then I can begin to be a vine ! " But the ground said : 
"That you must ask of the rain." 

So the seed called to the rain : "O Rain, please come down and wet the 
ground around me so that it may give me a few drops of water. Then will 
my hard brown coat grow softer and softer until at last it can burst open 
and set free my two green seed-leaves and I can begin to be a vine !" But 
the rain said : " I can not unless the clouds hang lower." 

So the seed called to the clouds: "O Clouds, please hang lower and 
let the rain come down and wet the ground around me, so that it may give 
me a few drops of water. Then will my hard brown coat grow softer and 
softer until at last it can burst open and set free my two green seed-leaves 
and I can begin to be a vine ! " But the clouds said: "The sun must hide, 

So the seed called to the sun : " O Sun, please hide for a little while so 
that the clouds may hang lower, and the rain come down and wet the ground 
around me. Then will the ground give me a few drops of Avater and my 
hard brown coat grow softer and softer until at last it can burst open and 
set free my two green seed-leaves and I can begin to be a vine !" "I will," 
said the sun ; and he was gone in a flash. 

Then the clouds began to hang lower and lower, and the rain began to 
fall faster and faster, and the ground began to get wetter and wetter, and 
the seed-coat began to grow softer and softer until at last open it burst ! — 
and out came two bright green seed-leaves and the Morning-glory Seed 
began to be a Vine ! 



By Amy E. Blanchard. 

' I belong," said the little shoe, 
" To a baby fair with golden hair — 
With dimpled smiles 
And cunning wiles 
And eyes of blue." 

" What do you do, 
you little shoe. 
All the day? 
Tell me, I pray, 
Little shoe, what you do ? " 

■"'Upstairs and down," said the wee shoe, 
" Two little feet. 
Dainty and sweet, 
Patter about 
Indoors and out, 
And take mc, too." 

" What do you hear? 
How they talk. 
Where you walk, 
You little shoe ? " 

Now, tell me true. 

" What do I hear? " said the dainty shoe; 
" Tender words, songs of birds, 

Baby-sighs, lullabies, 
Ancf laugliter, too." 

"Where do you go, you dear wee shoe? 
Do you weary 
For land and sea. 
For something new? " 

" Sometimes I sail," said the wee shoe, 
" Across the sea ; 
'Tvvixt you and 
It is not best 
To tell the rest ! — 
I 'm Baby's shoe." 





Good-day, dear May lovers and May queens ! 
It is delightful to see you here in this bright spring 
weather. By-the-\vay, have you all remembered 
to put on your overshoes ? If so, stand around 
and listen to this letter which comes to propound 

a puzzling question. 

Albany, January 25, 1888. 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : I have just been 
reading your February talk in St. Nicholas, and 
liave decided to write and ask you a question which 
has been bothering me for some time. Can you tell 
me the difference between a vegetable and a fruit ? 
I have asked a great many people, but nobody has 
been able to answer. When 1 first thought of it I 
supposed I had only to ask and be told, but found 
to my surprise I had propounded quite a difficult 
question. Surely, dear Jack, you should know, if 
any one does, being a sort of cousin to both. 
Your friend and well-wisher, 

Anna M. Talcott. 

It will never do, my chicks, for you to allow this 
query to remain unanswered. It requires careful 
consideration on your part, so we must give you 
time. Fruit of the earth is one thing. And fruit 
of the market is another, I suppose. The dear 
Little School-ma'am, who knows everything, can 
not give me terse, satisfactory definitions of fruit and 
vegetable th^t are calculated to relieve Anna Tal- 
cott's mind. The dictionaries and cyclopaedias, 
I 'm told, have formed a league to keep up the 
confusion. Elsie Goodrich, a little girl in the Red 
School-house, says the only way to find out is by 
cooking. If j'ou can eat it raw and enjoy it, it 's a 
fruit ; if it must be cooked to be good, it 's a vege- 
table. That is well enough, as far as it goes, but 
I 'm sure it will not satisfy Anna Talcott. All you 
can do is to study and observe, and bother older 

persons with questions till further notice. It is a 
hard world. 

Here is trouble for Elsie Goodrich ! The Little 
School-ma'am has just informed me that the hap- 
piest boy in the Red School-house eats, on an 
average, ten raw turnips a week, and that he has 
many followers. And how about olives ? 


Arbor Days, or tree-planting festivals, are happy 
days for our country, and I am glad whenever my 
birds tell me of any such celebration. They are 
held in many parts of the United States, and are 
frequent in the far West, I am told. The Little 
School-ma'am says that on one Arbor Day in 
April, a year or two ago, nearly a million trees 
were planted in Kansas alone. So, cultivate 
Arbor Days, children, and teachers of children, 
and do your part toward keeping this sunny 
land green and flourishing. My birds assume 
that trees are designed only for their benefit — the 
dear little innocents ! But think, my hearers, 
of all the uses to which trees are put ; think of 
their beauty, their value, and the important work 
they do in the economy of nature ! 

As to this last point, it might be well for you 
to inquire further. There is a great deal to be 
learned, I am told, in regard to the effect of trees 
upon the atmosphere, even upon the climate. But 
I am not quite able to inform you on these matters. 
Certain it is, however, that in one way or another, 
there is a steady demand for trees, and if nobody 
plants fresh ones there is danger of the supply 
giving out, in time. So says my old gray owl, 
and he knoius. 


Dear Jack ; We think that we have heard of bhie anemones, but 
we are not quite sure. Are there such things? And if there are, 
where do they grow? We have often seen white anemones, and 
also pink ones. Soon they will be coming again, and we four are 

With love to the Little School-ma'am, your loving friends, 

Fanny, Marian, Diana, and Eleanor. 


Now is the time of year for tempting the little 
sleeping branches to wake up somewhat earlier 
than usual. Carefully cut a few from fruit trees, 
maples, willows, even from stiff and leafless gar- 
den shrubs, however drear and wintry they may 
appear. Put them in water (which should be 
changed every day) ; give them sunshine and 
shelter, place them in-doors and watch for the 
waking ! Soon you will see swelling buds, then 
the blossoms, and, later, the green leaves, if you 
have pear or cherry branches, or cuttings from 
flowering-almond bushes, or from Forsythia or 
pyr7is Japonica. In this way my young city-folk 
may enjoy the sweet spring iDlooming even before 
it comes to their country cousins. 


Lincoln, Nebraska. 
Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : I am a devoted reader of St. 
Nicholas, and particularly your part of it. In the January num- 
ber I came across the question, " Who was Henry of Blois ? " He 




was brother of King Stephen, and Bishop of Winchester and Car- 
dinal Legate of the Pope as well. He seems to have been haughty. 
Every reader of English history knows Stephen unjustly kept the 
crown of England from the only heiress and daughter of Henry I. 
Well, Henry of Blois> though brother of Stephen, was not brother 
of his cause, but adhered to that of the Empress Matilda. Unfor- 
tunately, the Empress Matilda was rude and haughty and offended 
Henry de Blois and lost his friendship. I am indebted for the 
above facts to Miss Strickland's " Lives of the Queens of England," 
a book I am very fond of reading. 

Your interested reader, Agnes Stevens. 


You all have heard of Bruce's spider ? Yes ? 
I thought so. Well, here is a wren that also de- 
serves to be remembered, though, so far, no in- 
teresting historical person has utilized him, so to 
speak. I learn of this bird through a newspaper 
scrap that has just blown in upon my pulpit. It 
is very fitly headed : 


A WKEN built its nest in an old fruit-can, nailed to the gate-post 
of A. J. Diehl, of Normal, 111. The nest was destroyed, but was 
renewed twelve times on twelve successive days, having been pulled 
to pieces each time by an inquiring naturalist as soon almost as built. 
The bird was then left in undisputed possession. 

And now, with everybody's permission, while we 
are thinking of these energetic and seemingly 
intelligent little birds, I will take up something 
written on purpose for you by an observing young 
friend of St. Nicholas : 


The stories tliat we love best are the ones that 
Papa tells us, beginning, When 1 was a little fel- 
low," instead of " Once upon a time," a "truly, 
truly, black and bluely " story, and this is one of 
them : 

" When 1 was a little fellow, your grandfather 
moved from the city, and 1, for the first time, 
lived something of a country life. Everything was 
full of interest to me; but, above all, I was interested 
in the bird-life about me. It was spring-time, and 
the birds were having a right busy time of it, look- 

ing up their new homes. One family, a pretty 
pair of wrens, interested me particularly. They 
chose the leader from the piazza-roof of our house 
for the site of their new home. 

" You know the leader is the tin pipe that carries 
the water from the roof, and this one was a partic- 
ularly large one. How I wished 1 might safely stop 
them at their work, knowing, as I did, that the first 
real storm would wash away their home nest, rest- 
ing so daintily at the very mouth of the pipe. 

"Well, it so happened that they hardly had fin- 
ished their nest, when a severe storm came and tore 
away the new wren-home. As the water dashed 
through the leader, the poor wrens flew distractedly 
about, and finally settled on a neighboring branch 
of a tree. 

" When the storm had cleared, they continued to 
twitter and fly about for a long time, and then flew 
away. To my surprise, the next day the pair were 
busily at work again in the very self-same place 
over the leader ! And by and by I felt C]uite sure 
that there must be some tiny eggs in the little 
nest, as I saw Papa Wren flying back and forth all 
alone, politely carrying home a limp worm in his 
beak. I really dreaded another rain, and resolved, 
if possible, to watch the unfortunate little family 
when it should come. 

"At last the storm came, and, to my amazement, 
the water came freely from the leader, apparently 
creating no commotion whatever. When the rain 
had ceased, I took a long ladder and climbed up to 
investigate the leader puzzle. Sure enough, there 
was the tiny nest (for wrens are very little birds, you 
know), with the mother-bird's bright eyes peep- 
ing over the edge ; hut beneath the nest, so that 
the nest rested safely upon it, was a perfectly 
arched little bridge built of pliable twigs, and 
under this bridge the water had run safely, leaving 
the little family really high and dry." 

Now, dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit, this is a true story, 
for Papa says it is. I have two beautiful birds' 
nests that I found deserted by their builders ; but I 
have not yet found one with a bridge built under it. 


Practical Advice. 

Gentleman { having heard the little girl speaking French as he entered the elevator) : " I wish that I could learn to speak French as 
well as you do, my child ! " 

Little Girl: " Then your nurse must be French, and you must never, never speak a word of English, — it is the only way! A 
French nurse, you know, can not talk English." 

B O A T I N C> . 
Bv Eric Palmer. — A Very Young Contribvtor. 

Chapter I. Making The Boats. 

Once upon a time, there were two boys whose names were Billy 
Fray and Tom Dray. 

One fine day, while Billy and Tom were deciding what to play, 
Tom started up and said : 

" Let 's make some boats ; one of us can make a row-boat, and 
the other of us can make a sail-boat. The sail-boat will be a yacht, 
and a fishing-vessel, too, if we want to; don't you think it will be 
nice ? " 

" Yes," said Billy, "if we can ever make them ; but why not buy 
them ? " 

" Why, we have n't money enough, of course," said Tom ; " boats 
cost like everything; I don't know but some cost over a thousand 

" Phew ! " said Billy. " I never knew they cost as much as that." 

Then Tom laughed heartily. 

They worked all the afternoon until evening. 

In the midst of it Tom said : 

" Well, after all, I don't think il will be worth the trouble " ; but 
Billy coaxed him until he went on. After the boats were done, they 
were just as good as if they had been bought. 

The next day after they were done, the boys thought they would 
have a row and sail in the newly made boats. 




Tom did n't know how to row, so Billy taught him. 

Since they lived right on the sand, they did n't have very far to 
drag their boats to get them into the sea. 

When Tom was just beginning, Billy thought he 'd play a trick 
on Tom; so one time, when they were out rowing together, Billy 
said : 

Why don't you catch a crab ? " 
And Tom said : " I don't know how." 

" Why, just put your oar deep down into the water, and then 
take a long sweep with it, so as to let the crab have time enough to 
get on, and then take it up and see what you have on the end of 
your oar." 

So he did as he was bid, and instead of getting anything on the 
end, he just got pulled over in the bottom of the boat, and he said 
when he had got up : 

" I thought you might be playing a trick on me ! " 

(To he coiitiuued.) 

Chapter II. The Stor.m. 

"Well," said Billy, '" I can't play anymore tricks on you like 

"Well, I'm glad," said Tom, "for I did n't like that very 

" I should n't think you would," said Billy, "for the first time I 
had that trick played on me^ my head went against one of the seats 
and hurt a little." 

" I should think it would ; did it make your nose bleed 't " 

"No, of course not," said Billy indignantly. "A little thing 
like that would n't make 7}iy nose bleed ; would it yours? 

"Yes, I don't know but it would ; it might — and it might not," 
said Tom. a little slowly. 

That afternoon they resolved to try the yacht, — which afterward 
they called "The Mayflower." They tied their row-boat (which 
they called The Hepsie ") to the stern and started off. 

It was a nice day, but they had n't been gone half an hour before 
a storm came up ; a;id just before that Billy said : 

" Let 's go home, for it is getting a little late ; see, it 's getting 
dark, but I noticed the clock as 1 came out of the house, and it said 
2 o'clock exactly, and now it must be about 5. Now, should n't you 
think so ? " 

"Why, yes, I should," said Tom; "let 's steer home," 

" Alt right, go ahead," shouted Billy. " I guess we can get home 
in time for dinner, even if we are one or two miles from our beach ; 
don't you think so? " 

" Yes, I guess so," said Tom ; " but stop ! stop ! Put on all sail ; 
I feel some drops of rain, and a storm is coming up ; put on all sail 
as quick as you can, before the storm gets any worse." 

When they got on all sail, they went skimming along mighty fast, 
and it almost took the breath away from them. It went so fast the 
water came up on deck, but they did n't mind that, ihey just wanted 
to get home before the storm came up ; and Tom rowed as best he 
could, and so did Billy, but neither of them seemed to make their 
little skiff go fast enough ; they leaned over so as to prevent the 
water from coming into their eyes. 

The little skiff rocked to and fro, and one time when she made a 
great lurch to one side, over she went. Fortunately for the two 
children they knew how to swim very well, and they were not far 
from land, so they struck out with all their mights, and were getting 
tired and saying, "Oh, dear me! I think I shall drown!" when 
their feet touched the sand, and then they shouted " Hurrah, we are 
saved ! " and went into their houses dripping wet. 

{To be coniiniied. ) 

Chapter III. Getting the Boats. 

In a few days the boys wanted to take another sail ; so when their 
mothers did n't know it, they slipped out-of-doors and ran. 
Pretty soon Billy said : 
" Let 's take another sail " 
" All right," said Tom, " get your boat." 

" Come along with me," said Billy, "and I '11 get the boat quick 
enough." So they went to the place where they had kept her. and 
he saw she was not there; then he said, with blank amazement, 
" Where is she ? " 

" Why, out at sea ; d^oViX. you remember a few days ago ? " 

"Oh, yes! now I remember — she got tipped over a few days 
ago, did n't she ? " 

" Yes, we did ; but how are we going to get the boat and go out 
in it, and get her up in some funny way? But maybe we can't get 
her over at all, and even if we do, it will be all full of water, and 
we '11 have to bail it out, and that will take two or three days, and I 
don't think it worth the trouble, do you ? " 

" Well, yes, I doj but where is your row-boat? " said Tom, with 
a laugh inside of him that he would n't let out because he did n't 
want Billy to know his trick, and he said to himself, " You *ve played 
a trick on me, so I '11 plav a trick on you." 

Then Billy said, " Oh, yes, we tied our boat on behind the 
' Mayflower,' did n't we ? Oh, yes ! I 'm forgetting all the time. 
Js n't it funny ? " 

" I '11 tell you a way to get the boats, and that is, to go to one of 

our neighbors and ask to go out with them and get the boats up ; 
don't you think that 's a good way ? " 

" Yes, a very good way." 

" All right, let 's do it, then." 

" Very well, come ahead. " 

(To be coiitmued.) 

Chapter IV. Another Storm. 

"Well," said Billy, "after all this trouble, do you think we 
have had as much fun out of these boats as we meant to have ? " 

" Well, I don't know," said Tom, " but I think just about as much 
as we ought to have ; don't you think so ? " 

" No," said Billy, " I don't, for that time we tipped over was n't 
very nice. 

"That 's so," said Tom ; "but we 've had a good lot of fun out 
of 'em, anyhow, have n't we ? " 

" Yes, a pretty good lot," said Billy, a little suspiciously. 

That night, before going to supper, the boys planned to have a 
sail the next morning after breakfast, unless it was cloudy or showed 
any signs of a storm. So the next morning they were up and 
dressed early, for they wanted to make plans before breakfast, and 
carry them out after breakfast, if nothing happened to prevent. 

Right the minute they were done breakfast, without asking to be 
excused, or to fold up their napkins or anything, they hurried as 
fast as they could. 

This time they thought they would leave the row-boat behind. 
"Because," said Tom, "if we get tipped over again, and get to 
shore, we can have it to get the ' Mayflower' in." 

"Very true," said Billy solemnly, for the thought of the wreck 
made him shiver. 

Well, they went out; and suddenly — very suddenly — a storm 
came upon ihem. 

The night they got wrecked their fathers gave them a long in- 
struction how to manage a sail-boat; so this time they did as their 
fathers told them to. and they got on pretty well for a short time, 
when all at once a gigantic wave came up and gave a great sweep 
over the little uncontrolled skiff, then another just like the one be- 
fore it, and knocked the little thing right over ; and this time the 
boys were farther away from land than they had ever been before, 
and, even good swimmers as they were, they thought they should 
drown, because they knew they just could swim to land before." So 
Tom said, " We can't swim to shore, because we are farther out 
than we were before, and we just got to land then, so 1 'm going for 
good." Then he made a great plunge and never came up again, 
and so did Billy, and neither of them came up again. 

(To he contiriiicd.) 

Chapter V. Mourning. 

After the two fathers had talked over the matter for a little 
while, they appointed that at 10 o'clock they would start out and 
inquire if any of the people had seen 'two boys out in a sail-boat in a 
storm, and a lot of people said " No. they had n't." So then they 
had to ask the next person that came along until they got a lot of 
people going along with them, and some were the boys' friends, and 
some were total strangers ; but they all were anxious to get the 
boys back again if they could. By a little instruction from one of 
them, and by going where he told them to. the men and women 
found out that the " Mayflower" was gone from her mooring-place, 
and by looking through an opera-glass they could see far out at sea 
a ship blown over on her side, and they could make out these words 
on the side uppermost, " The Mayflower. " 

Then, just as soon as the two fathers saw these words, they both 
cried out, " That is our sons' ship. I remember ' The Mayflower ' 
was her name. Our sons are drowned ! Our sons are drowned ! 
Now, how can we get our sons up from the bottom of the sea?" 
"I don't know," said all the others that were standing around, 
" unless you take a well-trained diver and send him down to the bot- 
tom, and he '11 get them up for you." 

" Well, that would be a good way, but where are we going to get 
a diver? and even if we do get one, he may not go down for us. 
And then, when we get a diver, w here shall we get our boat ? " 

" I can get you both, sir, for I am the diver, and here is the 
boat. When would you like them?" 

" Now. if you please, sir ; you 're very kind." 

" Oh, not at all, sir ; I do such things often for people." 

After they had got the bnys they had a funeral, and on the grave- 
stone of Billy there were these words: 

Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? 
Oave thee life and made thee feed by the stream and o'er the mead ? 
(jave thee clothing of delight, — softest clothing, woolly, bright ? 
Gave thee such a tender voice, making all the vales rejoice? 
Little lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thee ? 

And on Tom's grave-stone there were these words: 
Little lamb, I '11 tell thee, little lamb. I '11 tell thee, 
He is called by thy name, for he calls Himself a I>amb. 
He is meek, and he is mild ; he became a little child ; 
I a child and thou a lamb, we are called by his name. 
Little lamb, God bless thee ! Little Iamb, God bless thee ! 

The End. 


Erratum — The reference beneath the frontispiece of the March 
St. Nicholas to p. 436 should have read " See p. 396." 

A friend sends us a bit of information concerning a place men- 
tioned in Mr. E. V. Smalley's article relating to the famous Lafitle 
brothers, in St. Nicholas for March. Our correspondent writes : 
" The author of the interesting article ' An Ancient Haunt of Pi- 
rates,' in your March number, omits to tell us the origin of the name 
of Barataria Bay. Lafitle and his followers always cbimed that 
their offense was not piracy, but barratry — in Spanish, harateria, 
which means a * cheat.' Barataria Bay is simply Barratry Bay, or 
the bay where cheating is going on." 

Whitney's Point, Bkoome Co., N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I thought I would write to you and tell 
you how much I like your magazine. I think it is decidedly the 
best magazine published, with 710 exceptions. I have taken it as 
long as I can remember, and there never was a time when 1 did not 
like it, and 1 do not think there will ever be a time when I shall tire 
of it. Mamma and the older members of the family enjoy it as much 
as I do. I think that Louisa M. Alcott and Mrs. Burnett are my 
favorite authors. "Little Lord Fauntleroy " is the most beautiful 
story I ever read. 

I took part in two St. Nicholas plays which were acted here, 
'* The Land of Nod " and " The Magic Pen." The parts were all 
taken by girls, — there was not a boy in either play. 

I think the " Letter-box " is a great institution, and I love to 
read the letters. 

I think I will ask a conundrum which all who love St. Nicholas 
as I do. can guess very easily. " Name something that can not be 
improved?" The answer is "St. Nicholas," of course. I have 
written quite a long letter now, and so I will close with *' Long life 
to St. Nicholas." CiR.\cE F. E . 

New Haven, Conn. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy six years old. I have 
taken you one year, and hope I may always have you for my Christ- 
mas present. I like you very much. I thought I would make a 
few pictures for you. I made three this morning while my mamma 
was busy- I asked her if I might send them, and 1 saw her smile. 
She said "Yes." 1 would like to see them printed in my St. 
NicHOL.AS. Your " Brownies " are funny little men. (lood night, 
dear old St. Nicholas. Your little friend, Robert C. Cole. 

We thank our young artist for the pictures which accompanied his 
letter, and regret that our engraver has been too busy to engrave 

Scoughall, North Berwick, Scotland. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Perhaps some of our fellow-readers would 
like to hear about the " Bass Rock," to which we often go in sum- 
mer, as we live close to it. We take a little steam launch from 
"Canty Bay," for the rock is two miles from shore. It is four hun- 
dred feet high, rising sheer up out of the sea, except on the south 
side, where we land, at one spot when the wind is east, and at an- 
other when it is west. 

Next to the rock itself, the solan geese take up most of our atten- 
tion. These birds have some very curious habits; they lay their 
single eggs on ledges of the rock, some of which are so narrow one 
would think there was scarcely room for the egg (which is about the 
size of a turkey's), much less for the parent bird, which hatches the 
egg by standing with one foot upon it; hence its name (sole on), 
some people think. These geese only inhabit one other rock in Great 
Britain (Ailsa Craig). Ihey all go away for the winter months, 
and come again in spring, nearly always on the 1st of February. 
When the bird is quite young it is a little downy ball, but becomes 
covered with black feathers, which gradually each season become 
more and more speckled with white till, at five years old, it is en- 
tirely white, with only black tips to each wing, and measures six feet 
from tip to tip. The " Bass mallow," peculiar to the rock, has been 
almost all carried away by botanists. 

There are many other birds besides the geese on " the Bass." 
such as sea-gulls, guillemots, Uittiwakes, cormorants, and quantities 
of pretty little "jaminories" with their red legs and bills, which 
dive in every direction. There is a cave right through " the Bass," 

which venturesome people can explore in calm weather when the 
water is low. There is also an old chapel and a prison on the rock, 
in one of the cells of which an old ancestor of ours, Colonel Black- 
adder, the martyr, was confined for seven years, and then died 
there. This Blackadder was a " Covenanter " and suffered for his 

" The Bass " was the last stronghold in Great Britain that held out 
for the Stuarts. This shore is very rocky, and they say people who 
lived here long ago were so bad they were called " the pagans of 
Scoughall," for they would tie a horse's head lo its knee, and with 
a lantern attached to the cord, drive it along the cliffs on a stormy 
night to look like a vessel riding at anchor, and so cause a wreck by 
alluring any passing ship on to the rocks; then the inhabitants 
would kill any survivors and take the spoils People' say the cellars 
imder our house used to be filled with smuggled brandy. We still 
have many wrecks, but we try to save the lives instead of destroying 
them. Our papa is captain of a volunteer Hfe-saving corps, which 
has done good service. Only two miles from here is Tantallon Cas- 
tle, which Sir Walter Scott mentions in " Marmion." They have 
just opened an underground entrance from the inside of the castle 
into the outside dungeon, and are also clearing out many built-up 
rooms and staircases. The battle-field of Doune Hill and Dunbar 
Castle are also within sight of our windows. 

I am your constant and admiring reader, Agnes Dale. 

Natural Bridge, Virginia. 
Dear -St. Nicholas: Although we have been taking you more 
than ten years 1 have never written to you before, and probably you 
have not missed it, as you have so many letters from all over the 
world; yet I don't think I ever saw any from this part of Virginia. 
We have been living here for about .seven years, ever since Papa 
bought the place, which consists of the " Bridge" and about 3000 
acres of land. 

Our cottage stands not more than one hundred feet from the top of 
the " Bridge," but we are very careful not to venture near the fearful 
precipices, which are over 215 feet high. 

My sister and I have a great many pets of every description ; 
among others, four dogs (a pug, a mastiff, a collie, and a Newfound- 
land), two little ponies that we brought from Florida last winter, 
twelve Jersey cows, and three lovely goats ; and last, but not least, 
an English bullfinch which can whistle two tunes perfectly. 

We have grow n too large to ride our ponies, but we drive them in 
a little phaeton, and have great fun. I am afraid we drive them very 
recklessly, as you will think when I tell you that we have worn out 
three pairs of wheels since last spring. 

Should St. Nicholas chance to be traveling this way we would 
be glad to see him at Natural Bridge, and be sure to send your card 
to Gretchen Parsons, 

"Jefferson Cottage." 

Morristown, N. J. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I thought I would write to you, as I have 
not seen any letter from here, and tell your readers something : If 
you take an egg and shake it twenty or thirty minutes, and then put 
it on a perfectly level surface, it will stand up straight. I have both 
seen it and done it myself a great many times. I take you con- 
stantly, and have a little fox-terrier dog, and my sister has a canary- 
bird that always looks for me in the morning to pick my finger. I 
can also hitch my dog to a sled, and he will pull me on a run. 

Your little friend, Gerald B. W . 

Washin<;ton, D. C. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I want to write to tell you of the fun we boys 
and girls had by acting some plays published in your pages. " The 
Jolly Old Abbot of Canterbury" is in Vol. III., page 123. I took 
the part of the Jolly Abbot. The parts were very easy to learn, and 
the audience enjoyed it immensely. Then we had " The Magician's 
Lesson," which is in Vol. VI., page 60. Then we had charades, 
which were also found in your columns. I hope other readers who 
sec this will get up these plays, as they afford pleasure and instruc- 
tion at the same time. My sister has taken you since you first came 
out in November, 1873, and had you bound every year. 

Your affectionate reader, Asa Birch C . 

San Francisco, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Your cheery red cover brightens my house 
every year, and makes us glad to see you. 




I am an only child, and am generally very lonely, as I don't go to 
school on account of my health, but I will tell you about my pets. 
I have three cats and two dogs. The cats' names are " Pequo," 
"Pollade," and " Noctie." I do not like common names. When I 
want the cats to look extra nice i take a sponge and smear a very little 
rich cream all over them, which they immediately lick off, and this 
gives them a fine gloss. I have taken the St. Nicholas for seven 
years, and enjoy it more than any other magazine. 

Your devoted friend, M. J. Duncan. 

Washington Barr-^cks, D. C. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have just been reading your lovely maga- 
zine. I think that " Sara Crewe " was splendid, and I am so sorr>- it 
is fini-hed. My Papa is in the army, and we live a long way 
from the city. I go to school every morning at 8 o'clock, and do 
not get back until 4 m the afternoon. I think Mrs. Cleveland is very 
pretty, and I am going to one of her receptions very soon. Another 
little girl and I sent her our birthday books, and she and her husband 
wrote in them. It is time I was stopping, for my letter is getting 
long. Your devoted reader, Jennie D. H . 

Lymm, Cheshire, England. 
Dear St. Nicholas: In the February number, among the letters 
from your American correspondents, 1 read one asking the question, 
" Why were not all the kings of England crowned immediately upon 
ascending the throne ? " I think there are two very good reasons why 
they should not be crowned: P'irst, it is a grand public ceremony, 
and therefore needs a great deal of preparation, which certainly could 
not be begun till after the former king's death; and secondly, it 
would not be thought kind or respectful to have such a scene of 
rejoicing too soon after a king's or queen's death. We have taken 
you for nearly seven years, and think you nicer than any other 
magazine. 1 am always very interested in the " Letter-box." We 
thought "Sara Crewe" was going to be a much longer story, and 
hope Mrs. Burnett will soon write another. 

I remain yours sincerely, Ida S . 

The Manse, H^ de Park', Belfasi . 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you since 1880, and enjoy you 
greatly. I am a little Irish girl, and think Ireland is a lovely place. 
I love all your stories, especially "Miss Minchin's School," and 
His One Fault." 

I am your delighted reader, B. Craig Houston. 

Onekama, Mich. 
Dear St. Nicholas: My kind Grandpa, who lives in Canada, 
has been sending you to me for more than two years. I guess it 
must be because he knows I have no brothers nor sisters, and few 
playmates. We live by a pretty lake, with hills and woods around 
It, and lots of beautiful little brooks running into it, which all come 
from springs. Some of them are mineral springs and taste queer. 
People come here in summer and live in a hotel near our home, so 
that they can drink the spring water, and go sailing and fishing. 1 
shall be glad when the snow and ice are gone, so that we can ramble 
about as we please, once more, and watch the steamboats and 
schooners sail in and out from Lake Michigan, which is three miles 
off. When the boats run, my Aunts and other friends come oftener to 
see us ; but now the snow is three feet deep, and it is dull and solemn 
everywhere outdoors. Last night though, when the sun went 
down, the sky was beautiful, and there was a big, fiery streak that 
seemed to shoot straight up out of Lake Michigan. I am eight years 
old, and am learning to read and write at home, because I have not 
been as strong as most boys, and school is a good way off; but I am 
to begin in the spring. I got Papa to write this letter down so that 
you could read it easier. Mamma reads to me evei-y night. I think 
St. Nicholas stories are the nicest, and "Juan and Juanita " and 
"The Brownies" the best of all. I like the war stories too, and 
draw monitors on my blackboard. 

Yours truly, L. S. Har.mer. 

Sycamore, III, 

Dear St. Nicholas; I am a boy of seventeen, but my sisters 
and I still like St. Nicholas as much as ever. 'We have been tak- 
ing it since 1881, and have had the volumes bound. We all like the 
stories, especially the continued ones. My sisters are again read- 
ing their favorite — " Little Lord Fauntleroy." They take " Youth's 
Companion" and "Harper's Young People," so that we are well 
supplied with reading matter. 

Noticing in one of my old books the extraordinary ages of differ- 
ent animals given, I thought I would mention my mother's canary 
— Fritz, by name. He lived in our family ten or eleven years. He 
died literally from old age, as he was, to the best of my knowl- 
edge, thirteen, or possibly fourteen years when he died. 

This is a city of about four thousand people, and, if I do say it, 
one of the prettiest west of Chicago. We have three ward schools 
(graded) and a high school. 1 am a senior in the high school. I 
am a bicycler, using a Columbia, 57-inch, and I wish that you 
would publish more bicycle stories. 

A reader, Dan. P. Wild. 

Saratoga, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy ten years old, and have 
taken you for over a year. I have two brothers and two sisters, 
and we all enjoy hearing Mamma read your nice stories to us. We 
liked "Juan and Juanita" the best of all ; and Papa brought us 
home a dog when we were reading it, which looked a good deal 
like " Amigo " in that story, so we named ours Amigo, too, and we 
think she is just as smart as theirs, only in a different way. I want 
to tell you some of her smart tricks. If we throw a stone or a 
ball in the air, she will jump higher than our heads and catch it in 
her mouth. And last Christmas eve she brought me at my feet what 
I thought was a stone, but when I picked it up I found it was a 
lovely little vase of Indian pottery. Where she got it I can not 
imagine, but / a}n sure she wanted to make me a Christmas pres- 
ent, and I think more of that little vase than of any other gift. Papa 
has had a toboggan slide built for us this winter in our grounds, 
and I tell you it 's a " ripper." The chute is forty feet and the run- 
way is about 250 feet. We each have a toboggan, and we and 
some of our little friends have formed a club, and I am the presi- 
dent, and we all wear badges and have fine sport riding. 

I wish Mr. Palmer Cox would make some pictures of the 
" Brownies " tobogganing. It would be so funny to see the " Dude " 
riding down. Your little friend, S. Reston S . 

We are glad to be able to tell Reston S. that Mr. Palmer Cox once 
showed "The Brownies Tobogganing," in St. Nicholas for Janu- 
ary, 1886. 

Salt Lake City. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have never seen a letter from Salt Lake 
City in your " Letter-box," and I think I will write to you and tell you 
what happened one time when we were in Big Cottonwood canyon. I 
went into the tunnel of an old mine with my sister and my two big 
brothers. The tunnel had been abandoned for a long time. There was 
a shaft in it about ten feet deep, and we had to crawl along next to 
the wall to get past the shaft. The tunnel was very dark, and when 
we got in about two hundred feet we heard a growl and a whine, and, 
turning around and going in the direction of the noise, we saw a 
black object coming towards us. We had no other weapon than an 
old mining pick, which my big brother held, waiting for the beast to 
come on. Just as it reached the shaft, close to where we stood, my 
brother raistd the pick he had in his hands and was about to strike, 
when the bear, as we thought it was, laughed and got up. It was 
a foolish boy who had seen us go into the tunnel and tliought he 
would scare us, but he just escaped death himself All this hap- 
pened when I was quite a small boy. I am eleven years old now. 
I like the story of " Sara Crewe " very much. 

Truly yours. Gates E. Paddock. 

Yokoha:\ia, Japan. 
My Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl living in Japan, and 
am thirteen years of age. Every Christmas or birthday mother 
gives me two volumes of S i . Nicholas. I have read the story of 
" Little Lord Fauntleroy," and have liked it very much. " The 
Brownies " amuse us all, too. I have a little dog (pug) called 
" Putzica," which means in the Croatian language " the little girl." 
I possess, too, a lot of birds — canaries, who sing beautifully. It 
is not cold enough here in Japan to have a large skating-pond, 
but there is a rice-field wliere people throw water, and it freezes up. 
It is exceedingly small. I tried to skate the other day for the first 
time and fell down about twenty times, but, happily, did not hurt 
myself There were a lot of Japanese children around the place, 
and whenever anybody fell down they began to laugh and cheer you, 
and made a dreadful noise. 

1 remain your loving reader, Mary . 

Washington, D, C. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy seven years old. I have 
written a good many letters to my friends, but I never wrote to you 
before. But I like you so well that I think you must be one of my 
friends. Any way, I am one of yours, so I think I will write to 
you. I like your "Letter-box" very much, and I like "The 
Brownies," too, and " Jack-in-the-pulpit," because he tells us so 
much of Natural History, of which I am very fond. Indeed. I like 
everything between your covers. I have a pet cat named Mufti. 
He is very affectionate, and shows his love by bumping me with his 
head. Your little reader, George M. R' . 

Navy Yard, Ports.mouth, N. H. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I live here in the Navy Yard, and every 
morning I go over to Portsmouth to school in a tug called " Emer- 



aid." There are many naval ships here at the yard. Among them 
are two famous ships, the frigate "Constitution" and the " Kear- 
sarge." The last named was famous in the last war on account of 
the fight with the " Alabama." The "Constitution " is the famous 
"Old Ironsides" of the war of 1812. I do not know much about 
these wars, as I am only ten years old. There are several children 
in the yard, and we have very nice times together. I like the Si . 
Nicholas very much, and can liardly wait for it to come each 
month. I read all the letters in the " Lelier-bo.v " and wonder if I 
shall see mine there. I must not make this letter too long, so will 
say, good-bye ST. Nichol.^s. 

Your constant reader, Edith M. B . 

Lewistown, Pa. 

A motherless little girl of six years, able to write only in the form 
of printed letters, wants her grandmamma to write you something for 
St. Nicholas. Little Zella is quiet so long as there is any S i . 
Nicholas to read, and that is about the only still time we have, as 
her feet, tongue, and fingers, when not thus absorbed, are next to 
motion perpetual. As you have not much about Indians she asks 
me to say that, from our back windows, she can see the blue Juniata 
where the "bright Alfarata" svas wont, in the long ago, to paddle her 
own canoe. Now it is the white Juniata, held in its bed with a cry.s- 
tal covering of ice two feet thick and covered with snow. And a few 
steps from the front door will take her to the bank of a beautiful creek 
retaining its Indian name, Ki_sh-a-co-quillas. 

She has an aunt who is musical instructor in an Indian girls' school 
in Philadelphia, where she visited for several days early last spring, 
and became acquainted with the hundred or more pupils, among 
them being the Lizzie Spider, who has become known as the model 
for one of the principal figures in the group of a statue representing 
America, lately introduced into Fairmount Park. Vour young readers 
would be greatly interested in a doll made by her and sent to little Zella 
after her return home. It is dressed as the Indian mothers do their 
children in their far-away homes, with leggins, moccasins, blanket, 
and beads, the latter wherever they could be put on neatly and taste- 
fully. The hair, in braids, is from her own ample supply, black as 
a raven, straight and coarse, and the name given the doll was 
" O-yah-tah-washta," and that is what Zella calls it. Zella. 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for pleasant let- 
ters received from them: Ethel M. Tunnison, Willie Ciffin, Harold 

Ridner, James C Mendel, Hubert C, J. C, "Garth," Bertha E. 
Williams, Carter A. Hudson, Jennie Tracy, Cora and Clara Kep- 
linger, Flaxie F., Oliver R. Wade, Ray O., Nina V. Cooper, Susie 
Ward, Sidney W. Smith, Therese Erhard, j\lary W. Ward, Carrie 
H., Faith E. Babcock, Mamie Walt, Elsie Cocker, LeRoy B., W. 
and L., E. S., Bessie P. S., Ethel E. B., Louisa Flrmburg, Alex. S. 
E., " Daisy and Buttercup," S. j\I. S., Edward S. Hine, Elsie S., 
Etiiel Pine, Ruth Merriam, Agnes I'-. R., Daisy S., Louise M., Sue 
H. D., Albert, OIlie N., Fannie and Edith Tolman, Leadean Roy- 
den, Roy I. Bratton, Theodora A., Charley Alexander, Lena Edge, 
Julia, Sallie and Margaret C, Hiram C. Jenks, Kate and Minna, 
Marie and Nellie B. , Hannah R. Sprague, Yula Campbell, Ida Ellis, 
Jennie S. Smith, Florence I'hayer, Rebecca F. D., Alice Chubback, 
Charles W. Gamwell, Miriam H., Hortie O'Meara, Bertha D., J. 
W., Henry D. C, Willie W. Curtiss, Alice S. Conly, Lilly 
Minneoka, Roxalene O. Howell, Tom P. Baldwin, Helen D. Bax- 
ter, Don Goodrich, Edith Bishop, Louise B., Robert R., Elsie M. 
G., Clara Whitmore B., Jessie and Eleanor, Ethel P., Maude L. H., 
Fannie Munkle, Roberta S. Caldwell, Amelia H, and Evalina Ham- 
ilton, Margaret G. King, Hatty K., Harry Kirtland, Helen Eugg, 
Lettice W., Effie J. C. Holland, V. B. and D. C, F. B. Miner, Lucie 
O. Smith, Pansy, Bertha B. , Lillie Towner, Rcba, Dorothea L. 
Somers, A. C. L., Sue, Marion C, Helen A. B., Lola and Allie, 
M. E. Mercer and O. L. Darling, Grace and Dillie, Mamie Hicks, 
Mabel L. Bishop, Olivia Bloomfield, Lotta B. Conklin, Harry Hay- 
den, Gracie Hoag, Olive Shaw Steuart, Annie L. D., Fannie E. L., 
?;dith G. Temple, Mary S., Alice Hubbard, Pastora E. Griffin, E. 
Lewis Higbee, M. A. E., Henrietta and Juliet, Florence L., L. A. 
Prioleau, Annie B., Elsie M. Routh, H. H. H., Lottie H. C, Belle 
Mumford, John Stewart, Claude and Harvey Morley, Eddie A., 
Annie C, George F. Gormly, Katharine and Isabel, Dell B., Annie 
E. Hamilton, Margery Sheppard, Beiilah W., Mabel G. M., Violet 
Pitman, Bessie Smith, A. H., Fawn Evans, Maud M., Franklin 
Carter, Jr., Joseph E. Merriam, Mary E. Foster, J. C, Arthur H. 
C, Cornelia H., F. S. W., Nellie T. W., George W. Leavitt, Edith 
S. Barnard, Alice, H. H. R., Ethel Moran, Ruth G. and Agnes A., 
^lay and Blossom, Sadie Myers. 

the cat 

SAYS : " think of that selfish mouse eating away, and me starving 

out here. 



Easy Hour-glass. Centrals, Consent. Cross-words ; i. 

5- nEw. 6. caNon. 7. 


I to 3, blesses ; 2 to 
5 to 6, systole. En- 
4. Den. 5. S. 

Cern. 2. prOud. 3. oNe. 4. S 

Tent. Charade. Fare-well. 

Co.MBi.vATiON Star. From i to 2, boaster 
3, reasons ; 4 to 5, staters ; 4 to 6, satiate ; 
closed Diamond : i. T. 2. Mad. 3. Tares. 
Numerical Enigma : 

The pilot of our literary whale. 
.'\ tomtit twittering on an eagle's back. 
Double .Acrostic. Primals, Raphael ; finals, Raphael. Cros.s 
words: i. RumoR. 2. AromA. 3. PolyP. 4. HarsH. 5 
.\ortA. 6. ElitE. 7. LeveL. 

Diamonds. I. i. P. 2. Cat. 3. Cital. 4. Patriot. 5 
Taint. 6. Lot. 7. T. II. i. S. 2. Lid. 3. Limes. 4. Simi 
lar. 5. Delay. 6. Say. 

Dropped Syllables. 
De-sert-er. 4. A-sy-lum 

Slaughter. 5. 

as : 3 to 9, rat 
13, guitars. 

I. L-arch. 
E-rase. 7. 

2. A-loft. 3. F-lung. 
T-aunt. 8. T-ease. 

April fools ; from ] 
2. Spurious. 3. 
7. Orthodox, i 

Hop. 3. Fare. 
3. Fine. 4. Ink. 

; I to 20, 
!. Mono- 

4. Eft. 
5. Ares. 


. Em-broid-ery. 2. Low-er-ing. 3. 
. En-coun-ter. 
2. Illustration. 3. Altogether. 4. 
Repentance. 7. Hostages. 8. Per- 

Aspirants. 6. 

From I to 7, earning: i 10 13, estates; i, E; 2, 8, 
4 to ID, Nora: 5 to it, idiot; 6 to 12, needle; 7 to 

Beheadings. Lafayette. 
4. A-bout. 5. Y-ours. 6. 
9. E-vent. 

Double From i to 10, 
Wordsworth. Cross-words : i. Allowing. 

4. Resisted. 5. Mildness. 6. Aftervvit. 
gram. 9. Militate. 10. Forsooth. 

Quincunx. I. Across : i. Spar. 2. 

5. Fete. II. Across: i. Tray. 2. Wax. 
An Anagram.matical Puzzle. Resuscitation. 
Changes, i. Saline, aliens. 2. Rugose, grouse. 3. Thread, 

dearth. 4. Cutlets, scuttle. 5. Piston, points. 6. Damson, nomads, 

Pi. First the blue and then the shower ; 
Bursting bud, and smiling flower; 
Brooks set free with tinkling ring ; 
Birds too full of song to sing; 
Crisp old leaves astir with pride. 
Where the timid violets hide, — 
All things ready with a will, — 
April 's coming up the hill ! 
Word-square, i. Grants. 2. Repeat. 3. Apori.a. 4. Neroli. 
5. Tailor. 6. Stairs. 

To OUR Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the February Number were received, before February 15th, from Maud E. Palmer — Louise 
McClellan — Grace Kupfer — Harry H. Meeder — "Miss Flint" — M. Josephine Sherwood — M. R. S. — Edith and Mabel — Mamma 
and Jamie—" Meawls " — Ruth C. Schropp — " Marquise "— K. G. S. — J. R. Davis — Sydney — " Missie, Neddie, and Jamie " — No name. 

New York City — "Infantry" — Nellie and Reggie — Belle Murdock — Gus and Tow — S. and J. Edsall — "The Three (traces" Ella 

and Co. — Henry H. Esselstyn — "Sally Lunn " — Bertha H. — Paul Reese — " Orange and Black" — A. H. R. and M. G. R. — Kenneth 

G. Warner — Harry and Bert — D. L. O. and S. B. O. — Kafran Emerawit — Nan and Bob Kitchel — " Shumway Hen and Chickens — 
F. W. Islip — " Twice 15 " — Louise Ingham Adams — " Willoughby " — "Jo and I " — Albert S. Gould — Annie Floyd — Charles C. Norris 
— " Tillie Boy " — Elsie Davenport. 

Answers to Puzzles in the February Nu.mber were received, before February 15th, from M. Hamersly. i — Nyleptha and 
Sorais, i — Noel and Lois di Cesnola, 3 — Alex. C. Johnston, i — " Nick or Methusaleh,"4 — L. J. Rose, 5 — G. J. N., i — P. J. Clephane, 
1 — " Punch and Judy," 2 — L. M. Gillingham, i — M. L. RadcUffe, i — ^ P. F. Stevens, 11 — " Mistletoe," 5 — Frank and May, 2 — H. 
O'Meara, i — K. L. and J. S. Anderson, i — " Ruby Preston Who," 4 — Twinkle Craig, 10 — R. A. Proran, i — L. Hickman, i — E. A. 

Armer, i — S. Park, Jr., 1 — C. Thomas, i — " Tchoupitowlas," i — Efifie K. Talboys, 8 — A. M. Renter, i — B. Coleman, i E. H. 

Rossiter, 3 — B. Bolles, i — K. Peet, i — Celeste Willis and Mary Small, i — E. T. Lewis, i — C. L. S., 2 — R. Cummings, i — E. 
R. K., I — F. and H. Hooper, 6 — G. Olcott, 8 — " O. Leo Margarine," 2 — " Idyle," 9 — J. Z. and J. C. Smith, 2 — E. W. Fullam, 

1 — W R. Moore, 1 1 — " Lady of the Lake," 3 — " Three Graces," 3 — S. Penman, i — A. S. Baumann, 3 — E. W. S. and J. McL. S., 

2 — J. H. Sayres, 2 — L. F. Armington, 5 — B. S. Merriman, 2 — "The Two B.'s," 3 — W. E. Smith, 2 — H. K. Hill, 10 — Skipper, 
6 — "Alpha, Alpha, B. C." 6 — E. S. Hine, 3 — M. P. Barker, 1 — " Budget," i — " The Three C.'s," 8 — S. L. B., i — S. and B. Rhodes, 
II — G. Elcox, 3 — " Merry Three," 7 — J. S. Liebman, 5 — S. Ward, i — F. Runyon, 11 — I. O. A. I., 7 — I. R. and L. Rettop, 8 — Obie, 

2 — Nella, 3 — " Chingachgook and Uncas," 4 — Leo," i — G. and N. Wentworth, i — All, Ella, and Gerty, 10 — Mamie E. H., 6 — 
No Name, Hooper St., i — A. Mintel, i — "Red, White, and Blue," 2—" Right-hand neighbors," 7 — A. M. and S. R. Bingham, 7 — 
" May and 79," 10 — W. R and G. D. Sleigh, 7 — " Twin Elephants," 6 — J. C. and J. G. Smith, i — " Kettle-drum and Patty-pan," 

3 — G- Hodson, i — C. C, 2 — " Lehte," 11 — • Maud S. and Em C, 5 — E. A. Bessey, i — John and Bessie, 3 — Two Claras, 4 — F. C. 

H. , 7 — " Tyb Tee and Matti B., 7 — L. I. and J. Moses, 2—" Rag Tag," 6 — N. L. Howes, ii — H. W. Pence, 2 — Jay Laret, Jr 

10 — "Lake View," 10 — "M. A. Bel," 8 — Millie Day, 2 — H. A. H., 11 — E. M. S., 5. 


I. A covering for the lower part of the face and the shoulders. 2. 
A genus of succulent plants, found in warm countries. 3. A girl's 
name. 4. A well-known leguminous plant. "belladonna." 


I 2 

5 6 


7 ..... 8 

From i to 2, the apparent junction of the earth and sky; from 2 
to 4, pertaining to nebulso; from i to 3, a large sea-fish; from 3 to 4, 
an instructor; from 5 to 6, sage; from 6 to 8, the windpipe; from 
5 to 7, a place of exile ; from 7 to 8, the admiral of the successful 

fleet in the naval victory at Actium ; from i to 5, the .Scythians 
who conquered Pannonia, and gave it its present name; from 2 to 6, 
cleanly ; from 4 to 8, the genus of animals to which the frog belongs ; 
from 3 to 7, a garment worn by the ancient Romans. m. v. w. 


All of the words described contain the same number of letters ; 
when these words are rightly guessed, and placed one below another 
in the order here given, one row, reading downward, will spell typog- 
raphy and another row will spell devised. 

Cross-words: 1. To murmur. 2. A large strong wasp. 3. To 
quake. 4. Dogmas. 5. A common plant somewhat like mint. 
6. The shop of a smith. 7. Upright. 8. A city, famous in ancient 
times, founded by Almanzor. " katashaw." 


Across: i. A girl's name. 2. Relating to a node. 3. Worthi- 
ness. 4. What Coleridge, in " TV/t' Anciefit Mariner,'' says is 
" beloved from pole to pole." 5. The mollusk to whose pace Shak- 
spere compares the school-boy's. 

Downward : 1. In kettle. 2. An article. 3 A boy's nick- 
name. 4. The fifteenth day of certain months. 5. Noblemen of Eng- 
land ranking above viscounts. 6. A legal claim. 7. Always on the 
supper-table. 8. A mixed mass. 9. In kettle. n. o. and m. m. 





I. In rococo. 2. Fortune. 3. A boys's name, common in France. 
4. Principal 5. A manager. 6. Adorned fantastically. 7. To 
inhume. 8. A deity. 9. In rococo. Sidney j. 


Karm ! hwo ew teme tehe 

Ta dwan fo wyde yda! 
Khar ! who ew trege heet 
Xhwi rou dorylunea ! 
Hilew lal eth dogluy stingh hatt eb, 
Ni thare, dan ria, dan maple ase, 
Rea wingak pu ot molewec tehe, 
T'oLih rryme thomn fo yam ! 


All of the words described contain the same number of letters. 
When these have been rightly guessed and placed one below the 
other, in the order here given, the first row of letters will spell the 
title of a book, and the third row will spell the name of the writer of 
it, who was born in 1823. She was an English woman. 

Cross-words : 1. A horse and carriage kept for hire. 2. A hedge- 
hog. 3. Pertaining to a mountain-city in Cyprus. 4, An altar- 
piece. 5. Slanting. 6. A confederate. 7. Capable of being rated. 
8. Insnares. g. Makes more intense. 10. An observation, ii. Fal- 
low ground. 12. Belonging to a yeoman. 13. A phantom. 14. Doing 
menial services for another, — especially at an English school. 15. The 
close of the day. louise mcclellan. 


r. Behead the month which takes its name from the god of war, 
and leave roguish ; curtail this and leave a segment of a circle. 2. 
Behead to expiate and leave a sound; curtail this and leave a meas- 
ure. 3. Behead an old word meaning "given," and leave level; 
curtail this and leave the beginning of the night. 4. Behead a place 
where milk is kept, and leave unsubstantial ; curtail this and leave 

atmosphere. 5. Behead to reform, and leave to improve; curtail 
this and leave "children of a larger growth." 6. Behead to long 
for, and leave to merit by labor ; curtail this and leave part of a 

The beheaded letters will spell a day which young people fre- 
quently devote to outdoor festivities. l. h. l. and d. m. 


Each of the words described contains the same number of letters. 
When these have been rightly guessed and placed one below another, 
in the order here given, the zigzags (beginning at the upper left- 
hand corner) will spell the name of a famous battle fought in the 
month of May. 

Cross-words: i. A vei-y small apartment. 2. Imposture. 3. A 
clique. 4. The coat of the seed of wheat. 5. Nice perception. 6. A 
small water-fowl. 7. A swimming and diving bird. 8. Pertaining 
to wings. 9. A liquid globule. 10. Horse trappings. 11. Mighty. 
12. To avouch. 13. The steinbok. 14. Charity. 15. A nimbus. 
16. A river of Germany. "Augustus g. hopkins." 


II 4 5 18 
. 14 . 16 . 

12 19 

.15 . 17 . 
13 6.7 20 

8 . 9 . 10 

From i to 3, a Turkish governor ; from 4 to 5, a unit ; from 6 to 7, 
performance ; from 8 to 10, to burst asunder ; from 11 to 13, a well- 
known drug; from 14 to 15, an animal; from 16 to 17, a river of 
Scotland; from 18 to 20, a famous king of Corinth; from 2 to 9, 
knowledge duly arranged ; from 12 to 19, to enrage, arthur c. 

Thk above one hundred squares contain the names of a number of novelists, which may be spelled out by what is known in chess as 
the " king's move." This, as all chess-players know, is one square at a time in any direction. The .same square is not to be used twice in 
any one name. In sending answers, indicate the squares by their numbers, thus : Burney, 37, 36, 47, 56, 65, 66. _ 

A separate list of solvers of this puzzle will be printed. If, however, so many solutions are received as to make the Ust of inconvenient 
length for printing in the magazine, only the names of those sending especially good lists will be printed. Answers will be received only 
until May 20, excepting those sent from abroad. 



(see page 568.) 


Vol. XV. 

JUNE, 1888, 

No. 8. 

By Prof. Alfred Church. 

Hippotiax of Colomts, in Rome, to his cousin and 
fellow-townsman Callias, — Greeting : 

I have been greatly at a loss, my dearest Cal- 
lias, ever since I came to this city, to decide 
whether I should rather admire or loathe these 
Romans. It must be confessed that at this 
moment, when I recall to my mind the things of 
which I was yesterday a spectator, I incline rather 
to hatred than love. How brutal they are ! — 
how cruel ! — how they delight in unmeaning 
show and extravagance ! With what a thirst for 
blood are they possessed, keener than that of the 
most savage wild beasts, — keener, I say, for beasts 
are content when their hunger is appeased, but the 
appetite of these barbarians (for barbarians they 
are, notwithstanding all their wealth and luxury) 

Copyright, 1888, by The Century Co. 


can never be satisfied. Yet, when 1 see with what 
unwearying diligence, with what infinite labor, 
they prepare even their pleasures, I am beyond 
measure astonished. For yesterday's entertain- 
ment, they had ransacked the whole earth ; nor 
could a spectator, however hostile, forget that 
though they are vulgar in taste and savage in 
temper, they have conquered the world. But let 
me relate to you in order the things which I saw. 

Trajan the Emperor, — who, by the way, both 
in his virtues and vices, is a Roman of the Romans, 
— having added seven new provinces to the Em- 
pire, resolved to exhibit to the people such a show 
as never before had been seen in Rome ; and it 
is confessed by all that he has attained his ambi- 
tion. The day before yesterday, my host, whose 
office imposes upon him part of the care of these 

Ail rights reserved. 



matters, took mc to the public supper at which the 
gladiators who were to fight on the morrow took 
leave of their friends and kinsfolk. The tables 

A "SAMNITE." (see PAGE 568.) 

were spread in the circus itself ; and there were 
present, I should suppose, not less than two hun- 
dred guests (so many gladiators being about to 
fight on the morrow), for whom most bountiful 
provision of the richest food and most generous 
wines had been made. They were of all nations ; 
but chiefly, as I was told, from Gaul and Thrace. 
From Greece, it rejoices me to say, there were but 
very few, and most of these Arcadians who, now 
that the Romans have established peace over all 
the world, are compelled to hire out their swords, 
not for honorable warfare, but for these baser 

Most of the guests were, I thought, intent 
only on indulging in as much pleasure as the time 

permitted, and ate and drank ravenously. Some 
of them loudly boasted of what they would do on 
the morrow, and were heard by their admirers, 
among whom were some of the noblest youths in 
Rome, with no less reverence than is a philosopher 
by his disciples. Others were more modest and 
more silent; and these, I noticed, were also more 
sparing of the wine-cup, which moderation would 
doubtless receive the reward of a clearer sight and 
steadier hand for the arena. There were not want- 
ing sights which touched the heart. One such I 
observed in particular, because my host was con- 
cerned in it. I should say first, that some of these 

A "NET-MAN." (SEE I'AGE 568.) 

gladiators, though they themselves are slaves, yet 
have slaves of their own who receive by no means 
inconsiderable gifts when their masters are victori- 
ous ; and not seldom, also, some share of the wages 



which the gladiators win through their prowess. As 
we were walking among the tables, a certain Pleusi- 
cles, who was known to my host, plucked his gown 
and begged him to stay awhile. This Pleusicles was 
a gladiator of nearly ten years' standing, and would 
be entitled to his discharge (usually conferred by 
the presentation of a wooden sword) if only he 
should safely pass through the dangers of the 
morrow. By his side stood a man of about sixty 
years, a Syrian, as I should judge, who was weep- 
ing without restraint. 

"Most noble Pontius," said the Greek, "will 
you condescend to be the witness while I set this 
man free " 

At these words the Syrian broke forth into tears 
more vehemently than ever. " I will not suffer 
it," he cried; " 't is of very worst omen that a 
gladiator should do such a thing. As well might 
you order the pinewood, the oil, and the spices for 
your funeral." 

"Be silent," said the other, with a certain 
kindly imperiousness. " Shall I not do as I will 
with mine own ? If to-morrow should " 

At this the old man clapped his hand upon 
the speaker's mouth, crying, '■'■Good words ! Good 
words ! " 

" Well," said Pleusicles, " should anything hap- 
pen to me to-morrow, how will you fare, being still 
a slave ? Say, if I had not bought you three years 
since, when your old master of the cook-shop sold 
you as quite worn out, would not you have starved ? 
'T is not every one, my masters," he went on, 
turning to us, " that knows this Dromio. He is 
the most faithful and the bravest of men — and 
makes withal the most incomparable sausage- 
rolls ! Nay, Dromio, you shall be free whether 
you will or no. If all goes well, you shall not 
leave me ; if otherwise, there is a legacy of fifty 
thousand sestertii [about $2000] with which you 
can set up a cook-shop of your own." 

Pleusicles had his way; and, I am glad to say, 
escaped on the morrow unhurt. 

A little further on I saw a parting which also 
moved me not a little. A young freedwoman was 
clinging with her arms around the neck of a most 
stalwart champion. They were a singular pair; 
she, more than commonly fair and of a delicate 
beauty; he, a Libyan, from the other side of the 
Atlas, and blacker than I had conceived it possi- 
ble for any man to be. I wondered somewhat at 
her choice, for in his face, which was as flat as a 
bee's, there was little enough of the Apollo ; but 
his stature (which was at least four cubits) and 
his broad shoulders and sinewy arms were truly 
heroic, and therefore I could excuse her admira- 
tion. Close by stood a little nurse-girl, carrying 
a child in whom were most admirably mingled the 

hues of night and morning ; nor am I ashamed 
to confess that there were tears in my eyes when 
the black Hector took this little whitey-brown 
Astyanax in those mighty arms and tenderly 
kissed him. I do not know how it went with the 
father in the combat. 

But I must hasten on to the show itself. 

I will not deny that the first part filled me with 
unmixed delight and admiration; for the place, 
with the concourse of spectators, formed a most 
noble sight. There were gathered together more 
thousands of men than I had ever seen before, 
each robed in a spotless white gown and wearing 
a garland on his head. Among them sat many 
women, habited with much variety of color. I 
myself sat with my host, his wife and daughter, 
in one of the front rows ; and from there the sight 
was one of uncommon splendor. The purple 
and red awning, too, which was stretched over our 
heads, with the sun partly shining through it, 
gave a most brilliant effect. And then, the spec- 
tacle first exhibited was of incomparable rarity. 
Such curious and beautiful creatures were brought 
before our eyes as I had scarce known even in my 
reading. And, as if their natural beauty were not 
enough, art had been called in to increase their 
attraction. There were ostriches — 't is a bird, if 
you will believe me, of full six cubits in height — 
dyed with vermilion ; and lions whose manes had 
been gilded, and antelopes and gazelles, which 
were curiously adorned with light-colored scarfs 
and gold tinsel. I should weary you were I to 
enumerate the strange creatures which I saw. 
Besides the more common kinds, there were river- 
horses ('t is a clumsy beast, and as little like to a 
horse as can be conceived, except, they say, as to 
the head when the upper half is protruded from 
the water), and rhinoceroses, and zebras (beasts 
curiously striped and not unlike to a very strong 
and swift ass) ; and, above all, elephants. Though 
I liked not the artificial adorning of some of these 
creatures — which, indeed, I thought proof of a 
certain vulgarity in these Romans — I could not 
but admire the skill with which all these animals 
had been taught to keep in subjection their natural 
tempers and to imitate the ways of men. This 
was especially manifest in the elephants. One of 
these huge beasts, balancing himself most care- 
fully, walked on a rope tightly drawn. Other 
four, on the same most difficult path, carried be- 
tween them a litter in which was a fifth, who 
represented a sick person. And even more won- 
dei ful than these were the lions and other beasts 
of a similar kind. It has always been a favorite 
marvel of the poets, how Bacchus was drawn in a 
chariot by leopards which he had trained to be as 
docile as horses. But here I saw Bacchus out- 




done. Lions and tigers, panthers and bears, 
appeared patiently drawing carriages ; lions being 
yoked to tigers, and panthers with bears. Wild 
bulls permitted boys and girls to dance upon 
their backs, and actually, at the word of com- 
mand, stood up on their hind feet. Still more 
wonderful again than this was the spectacle of 
lions hunting hares, catching them, and carrying 
the prey in their mouths, unhurt, to their masters. 
The Emperor summoned the lion-tamer who had 
trained the beasts in this wonderful fashion, and 
praised him highly for his skill. The man an- 
swered with as pretty a compliment as ever I 
heard. "It is no skill of mine, my lord," says 
he; "the beasts are gentle because they know 
whom they serve." 

But, in good truth, there was little more of 
gentleness to be seen after this. The Romans 
have an unquenchable thirst for fighting. These 
curious shows of rare creatures and rare accom- 
plishments (I had forgotten to say that there was 
an elephant that wrote the Emperor's name on the 
sand) soon gave place to the serious business of 
the day. But previously, to whet the appetite of 
the spectators for that which was to follow, came 
various spectacles of beasts fighting against one 
another. First, a Molossian dog (famous, as you 
know, for strength and courage) was set on a bull. 
Then a lion was matched with a tiger, but most 
unequally; for the lion, being inferior in strength 
and courage, was speedily killed. Then came a 
combat of a bull with a rhinoceros. With what 
fury did the people roar (not liking to be balked 
of their sport), when the great beast declined the 
combat, and willingly would have retreated from 
the bull into its den. It had manifestly no liking 
for the fight, and could scarcely be urged into it 
by the keeper, though the man put hot iron to its 
hide (which, indeed, is marvelously thick), and 
blew into its ear with a trumpet. The bull, though 
savage enough of his own accord, also was urged 
on with fluttering pennons of red. So, at last, 
they got the two to engage ; and then the rhinoc- 
eros, tossing up his head, sent the bull flying into 
the air, as if it had been no more than a truss of 
straw. When the bull came to the ground, he 
was absolutely dead, his enemy's horn having 
pierced a vital part. 

These were but a few of many combats. Then 
came as many — nay, twice as many — fights be- 
tween men and beasts. I am told that men some- 
times are sent unarmed into the arena, having 
been doomed for some great crime to die in this 
way. Four men devoted to some strange supersti- 
tion, which is called after one " Christus," perished 
in this way last year. But to-day all were armed ; 
and, indeed, they acquitted themselves with mar- 

velous skill and success. I noticed especially one 
man, a famous performer, who was matched against 
a lion ; he had no protection but a cloth in his hand 
and a small dagger that seemed made rather for show 
than for use. With most wonderful adroitness he 
threw the cloth over the lion's eyes, completely 
blindfolding them ; and then, when the beast was 
struggling with the incumbrance, fastened a rope to 
a leathern belt that was round the creature's belly 
(most of the larger animals were so harnessed for con- 
venience in managing them). With this rope thelion 
was finally dragged back into his den, the man retir- 
ing amidst shouts that could havebeen nolouderhad 
he saved the city from destruction. On the whole, 
there was little damage done, though some were 
wounded, and my heart, it must be owned, beat 
fast more than once at seeing in what peril the 
combatants stood. I thought, also, that those who 
managed the spectacle were chary of the lives of 
the rarer and more precious beasts, much to the 
vexation of the commoner sort of people, who look 
upon the bodies of all animals killed at such times 
as perquisites of their own. 

These combats being finished, the bodies of 
the slain animals dragged away, and fresh sand 
strewn over the whole place, there fell upon the 
entire assembly the silence of great expectation. 
Some, who had been sleeping, awoke ; others, who 
had been talking with their neighbors, were silent; 
for now was to come the sight which goes to the 
inmost heart of these savages: — men fighting with 

It is not to be denied that it was a splendid 
sight when a hundred of the gladiators, who were 
to play the " first act," so to speak (they were 
a mere fraction of all the performers to be ex- 
hibited), came marching in, two by two. They 
were armed mostly as soldiers, but with more of 
ornament and with greater splendor. Their hel- 
mets were of various shapes, but each had a broad 
brim and a visor consisting of four plates, the 
upper two being pierced to allow the wearer to see 
through them. On the top also there was what 
one might liken to the comb of a cock; and 
fastened to this, a plume of horse-hair dyed crim- 
son, or of crimson feathers. Some were called 
"Samnites" (the name of an Italian tribe that 
once nearly brought Rome to her knees). These 
carried a short sword and large oblong shield. 
Others were armed as Thracians, or as Greeks. 
Others, again, were distinguished by the symbol 
of a fish upon their helmets. But the most curious 
of all were those called "net-men," who were 
equipped with a net in which to entangle an 
antagonist ; having so disabled him, the net-man 
stabs him with a three-pronged harpoon. These 
have no helmets, and are equipped as lightly as 



possible, for if they miss their cast they have no Indeed, had I continued to look, undoubtedly I 
hope of safety but in their fleetness of foot. should have fainted. But I could not but observe 

You will not think the worse of me, my dear that the young Fausta, my host's daughter, a 


Callias, if I acknowledge that I can not describe maiden of about seventeen, had no such qualms, 

this part of the spectacle. The truth is that after for she gazed steadfastly into the arena the whole 

a certain dreadful fascination, which held me while time, and her face (for I looked at her more than 

the first strokes were given, I turned away my eyes, once) was flushed, and her eyes sparkled with a 




most inhuman light. Till yesterday 1 had thought 
her the fairest maiden I had seen ; but now the 
very girdle of Aphrodite could not make her beauti- 
ful in my eyes. Can you believe, my Callias, that 
this young girl, who a week ago was weeping in- 
consolably over a dead sparrow, cried aloud, "He 
has it!" when some poor wretch received the de- 
cisive blow; — aye, and when, not being wounded 
mortally, he appealed for mercy, that she made 
the sign of death? — which they do by pointing 
with the hand as if in the act to strike. Verily, 
they have the wolf's blood in their veins, these 
Romans, both men and women ! 

But what will you say when I relate to you my last 
experiences ? Hearing my neighbor say that the 
spectacle was over for the day, I ventured to look 
up; and what, think you, did I see? Some sixty 
bodies lay on the sand, and there came out the 
figure of one dressed as Charon, the ferryman of 

Styx, who examined the prostrate forms to try 
whether there was life in them. Finding that none 
were alive, he returned to the place whence he 
came, and there followed him presently another 
person, this one habited as Hermes, bearing in his 
hand the rod wherewith the messenger of the gods 
is said to marshal the spirits of the dead when they 
go down to the shades. At his bidding some at- 
tendants removed the poor victims. This done, 
fresh sand was strewn over such places as showed 
signs of conflict, and thus was finished the first day 
of the great show, wherewith Trajan is to please 
the gods and the Roman people. 

It will be continued for many days ; how many 
I neither know nor care, for I go not again. Next 
year I hope to see among the planes and olives of 
Olympia the bloodless sports which please a kind- 
lier, gentler race of gods and men. 


By Amelie Rives. 

The butterfly quoth to the rest-harrow * flowers ; 

" Cousins, good day ! 

" I paused on my way, 
To make ye acquaint with the kinship that 's 

The rest-harrow flowers 
Flew off in pink showers. 

If that, sir," quoth they 
Be true, as you say, 
Pray, why do we fly 
But once, ere we die ? 
And then only, moreo'er. 
When we 're bidden to soar ? 
We are powerless, quite 
Till a wind gives us flight ! " 

*See note in " Letter-box," page 636. 


THE butterfly's COUSINS. 


By Thomas Nelson Page. 

Chapter V. 

S the man in the hen-house 
groaned horribly, Willy, re- 
lenting, was about to look 
in, when he saw Uncle Balla 
coming with a flaming light- 
wood knot in his hand. 

Instead of opening the 
door, therefore, he called to 
the old man, who was leisurely crossing the yard : 
" Run, Uncle Balla. Quick, run ! " 
At the call, Old Balla and Frank set out as fast 
as they could. 

" What 's the matter ? Is he done kill de chick- 
ens ? Is he done got away ? " the old man asked 

" No, he 's dyin'," shouted Willy. 
"Hi! is you shoot him?" asked the old 

" No, that other man 's poisoned him. He was 
the robber and he fooled this one," explained 
Willy, opening the door, and peeping anxiously in. 

" Go 'long, boy, — now, d' ye ever heah de bet- 
ter o' dat? — dat man 's foolin' wid you ; jes' tryin' 
to git yo' to let him out." 

" No, he isn't," said Willy; "you ought to 'a' 
heard him." 

But both Balla and Frank were laughing at 
him, so he felt very shamefaced. He was relieved 
by hearing another groan. 

"Oh, oh, oh! Ah, ah!" 

" You hear that ? " he asked, triumphantly. 

" I boun' I '11 see what 's the matter with him, 
the roscol ! Stan' right dyah, y' all, an' if he try 
to run shoot him, but mine you don' hit and 
the old man walked up to the door, and standing 
on one side flung it open. "What you doin' in 
dyah after dese chillern's chickens?" he called 




" Hello, ole man, 's 'at you ? I 's mighty sick," 
muttered the person within. Old Balla held his 
torch inside the house, amid a confused cackle and 
flutter of fowls. 

"Well, ef 't ain' a white man, and a soldier at 
dat ! " he exclaimed. " What you doin' heah, rob- 
bin' white folks' hen-roos' ? " he called, roughly. 
" Git up off dat groun' ; you ain' sick." 

"Let me get up, Sergeant, — hie — don't you 
heah the roll-call ? — the tent 's mighty dark ; what 
you fool me in here for?" muttered the man 

The boys could see that he was stretched out on 
the floor, apparently asleep, and that he was a 
soldier in uniform. 

" Is he dead ? " asked both boys as Balla caught 
him by the arm, lifted him, and let him fall again 
limp on the floor. 

" Nor, he 's foolin'," said Balla, picking up an 
empty flask. " Come on out. Let me see what I 
gwi' do wid you ?" he said, scratching his head. 

"I know what I gwi' do wid you. I gwi' lock 
you up right whar you is." 

" Uncle Balla, s'pose he gets well, won't he get 
out ? " 

" Ain'/gwi' lock him up ? Dat 's good from you, 
who was jes gwi' let 'im out ef me an' Frank 
had n't come up when we did." 

Willy stepped back abashed. His heart accused 
him and told him the charge was true. Still he 
ventured one more question : 

" Had n' you better take the hens out ?" 

" Nor; 't ain' no use to teck nuttin' out dyah. 
Ef he come to, he know we got 'im, an' he dyahson' 
trouble nuttin." 

And the old man pushed to the door and fast- 
ened the iron hasp over the strong staple. Then, 
as the lock had been broken, he took a large nail 
from his pocket and fastened it in the staple with 
a stout string so that it could not be shaken out. 
All the time he was working he was talking to the 
boys, or rather to himself, for their benefit. 

" Now, you see ef we don' find him heah in the 
mornin' ! Willy jes' gwi' let you git 'way, but a 
man got you now, wh'ar' been handlin' horses an' 
know how to hole 'em in the stalls. I boun' he '11 
have to butt like a ram to git outdis log hen-house," 
he said finally, as he finished tying the last knot 
in his string, and gave the door a vigorous rattle 
to test its strength. 

Willy had been too much abashed at his mis- 
take to fully appreciate all of the witticisms over 
the prisoner, but Frank enjoyed them almost as 
much as Unc' Balla himself. 

" Now y' all go 'long to bed, an' I '11 go back 
an' teck a little nap myself," said he, in parting. 
" Ef he gits out that hen-house I '11 give you ev'y 

chicken I got. But he ain' givine git out. A man 's 
done fasten him up dyah." 

The boys went off to bed, Willy still feeling 
depressed over his ridiculous mistake. They were 
soon fast asleep, and if the dogs barked again they 
did not hear them. 

The next thing they knew, Lucy Ann, convulsed 
with laughter, was telling them a story about Uncle 
Balla and the man in the hen-house. They jumped 
up, and pulling on their clothes ran out to the hen- 
house, thinking to see the prisoner. 

Instead of doing so, they found Uncle Balla 
standing by the hen-house with a comical look of 
mystification and chagrin ; the roof had been lifted 
off at one end and not only the prisoner, but every 
chicken was gone ! 

The boys were half inclined to cry ; Balla's look 
set them to laughing. 

"Unc' Balla, you got to give me every chicken 
you got, 'cause you said you would," said Willy. 

" Go 'way from heah, boy. Don' pester me 
when I studyin' to see which way he got out." 

"You ain' never had a horse get through the 
roof before, have you ? " said Frank. 

" Go 'way from here, I tell you," said the old 
man, walking around the house, looking at it. 

As the boys went back to wash and dress them- 
selves, they heard Balla explaining to Lucy Ann 
and some of the other servants that "the man 
them chillern let git away had just come back and 
tookcn out the one he had locked up " ; a solution 
of the mystery he always afterward stoutly insisted 

One thing, however, the person's escape effected 
— it prevented Willy's ever hearing any more of his 
mistake ; but that did not keep him now and then 
from asking Uncle Balla "if he had fastened his 
horses well." 

Chapter VI. 

These hens were not the last things stolen 
from Oakland. Nearly all the men in the country 
had gone with the army. Indeed, with the excep- 
tion of a few overseers who remained to work the 
farms, every man in the neighborhood, between 
the ages of seventeen and fifty, was in the army. 
The country was thus left almost wholly unpro- 
tected, and it would have been entirely so but for 
the " Home Guard," as it was called, which was a 
company composed of young boys and the few old 
men who remained at home, and who had volun- 
teered for service as a local guard, or police body, 
for the neighborhood of their homes. 

Occasionally, too, later on, a small detachment 
of men, under a leader known as a " conscript- 




officer," would come through the country hunting 
for any men who were subject to the conscript law 
but who had evaded it, and for deserters who had 
run away from the army and refused to return. 

These two classes of troops, however, stood on 
a very different fooling. The Home Guard was 
regarded with much respect, for it was composed 
of those whose extreme age or youth alone with- 
held them from active service ; and every young- 
ster in its ranks looked upon it as a training school, 
and was ready to die in defence of his home if 
need were, and, besides, expected to obtain per- 
mission to go into the army " next year." 

The conscript-guard, on the other hand, were 
grown men, and were thought to be shirking the 
very dangers and hardships into which they were 
trying to force others. 

A few miles from Oakland, on the side toward 
the mountain road and beyond the big woods, lay 
a district of virgin forest and old field-pines which, 
even before the war, had acquired a reputation of 
an unsavory nature, though its inhabitants were a 
harmless people. No highways ran through this 
region, and the only roads which entered it were 
mere wood-ways, filled with bushes and carpeted 
with pine-tags ; and, being traveled only by the 
inhabitants, appeared to outsiders " to jes' peter 
out," as the phrase went. This territory was known 
by the unpromising name of Holetown. 

Its denizens were a peculiar but kindly race known 
to the boys as "poor white folks," and called by 
the negroes, with great contempt, " po' white 
trash." Some of them owned small places in the 
pines ; but the majority were simply " squatters." 
They were an inoffensive people, and their worst 
vices were intemperance and evasion of the tax- 

They made their living — or rather, they ex- 
isted — by fishing and hunting ; and, to eke it out, 
attempted the cultivation of little patches of corn 
and tobacco near their cabins, or in the bottoms 
where small branches ran into the stream already 

In appearance they were usually so thin and 
sallow that one had to look at them twice to see 
them clearly. At best, they looked \ague and 

They were brave enough. At the outbreak of 
the war nearly all of the men in this community 
enlisted, thinking, as many others did, that war was 
more like play than work, and consisted more of 
resting than of laboring. Although most of them, 
when in battle, showed the greatest fearlessness, 
yet the duties of camp soon became irksome to 
them, and they grew sick of the restraint and 
drilling of camp-life ; so some of them, when 
refused a furlough, took it, and came home. 

Others staid at home after leave had ended, feel- 
ing secure in their stretches of pine and swamp, 
not only from the feeble efforts of the conscript- 
guard but from any parties who might be sent in 
search of them. 

In this way it happened, as time went by, that 
Holetown became known to harbor a number of 

According to the negroes, it was full of them ; 
and many stories were told about glimpses of men 
dodging behind trees in the big woods, or rushing 
away through the underbrush like wild cattle. 
And, though the grown people doubted whether 
the negroes had not been startled by some of the 
hogs, which were quite wild, feeding in the woods, 
the boys were satisfied that the negroes really had 
seen deserters. 

This became a certainty, when there came report 
after report of these wood-skulkers, and when the 
conscript-guard, with the brightest of uniforms, 
rode by with as much show and noise as if on a fox- 
hunt. Then it became known that deserters were, 
indeed, infesting the piny district of Holetown, and 
in considerable numbers. 

Some of them, it was said, were pursuing agri- 
culture and all their ordinary vocations as openly 
as in time of peace, and more industriously. They 
had a regular code of signals, and nearly every 
person in the Holetown settlement was in league 
with them. 

When the conscript-guard came along, there 
would be a rush of tow-headed children through 
the woods, or some of the women about the cabins 
would blow a horn lustily; after which not a man 
could be found in all the district. The horn told 
just how many men were in the guard, and which 
path they were following; every member of the 
troop being honored with a short, quick " toot." 

"What are you blowing that horn for?" sternly 
asked the guard one morning of an old woman, — 
old Mrs. Hall, who stood out in front of her little 
house blowing like Boreas in the pictures. 

"Jes' blowin' fur Millindy to come to dinner," 
she said, sullenly. " Can't y' all let a po' 'oomnn 
call her gals to git some 'n' to eat ? You got all 
her boys in d' army, killin' 'cm ; why n't yo' go 
and git kilt some yo'self, 'stidder ridin' 'bout heah 
tromplin' all over po' folks's chickens?" 

When the troop returned in the evening, 
she was still blowing; "blowin' fur Millindy to 
come home," she said, with more sharpness than 
before. But there must have been many Millindys, 
for horns were sounding all through the settle- 

The deserters, at such times, were said to take 
to the swamps, and marvelous rumors were abroad 
of one or more caves, all fitted up, wherein they 




concealed themselves, like the robbers in the stories 
the boys were so fond of reading. 

After a while thefts of pigs and sheep became so 
common that they were charged to the deserters. 

Finally it grew to be such a pest that the ladies in 
the neighborhood asked the Home Guard to take 
action in the matter, and after some delay it became 
known that this valorous body was going to invade 
Holetown and capture the deserters or drive them 
away. Hugh was to accompany them, of course; 
and he looked very handsome, as well as very im- 
portant, when he started out on horseback to join 
the troop. It was his first active service ; and 
with his trousers in his boots and his pistol in his 
belt he looked as brave as Julius Csesar, and quite 
laughed at his mother's fears for him, as she kissed 
him good-bye and walked out with him to his 
horse, which Balla held at the gate. 

The boys asked leave to go with him; but Hugh 
was so scornful over their request, and looked so 
soldierly as he galloped away with the other men 
that the boys felt as cheap as possible. 

Chapter VII. 

When the boys went into the house they found 
that their Aunt Mary had a headache that morn- 
ing, and, even with the best intentions of doing 
her duty in teaching them, had been forced to go 
to bed. Their mother was too much occupied 
with her charge of providing for a family of over 
a dozen white persons, and five times as many col- 
ored dependents, to give any time to acting as 
substitute in the school-room, so the boys found 
themselves with a holiday before them. It seemed 
vain to try to shoot duck on the creek, and the 
perch were averse to biting. The boys accord- 
ingly determined to take both guns and to set out 
for a real hunt in the big woods. 

They received their mother's permission, and 
after a luncheon was prepared they started in 
high glee, talking about the squirrels and birds 
they expected to kill. 

Frank had his gun, and Willy had the musket ; 
and both carried a plentiful supply of powder and 
some tolerably round slugs made from cartridges. 

They usually hunted in the part of the woods 
nearest the house, and they knew that game was 
not very abundant there ; so, as a good long day 
was before them, they determined to go over to 
the other side of the woods. 

They accordingly pushed on, taking a path 
which led through the forest. They went entirely 
through the big woods without seeing anything 
but one squirrel, and presently found themselves 
at the extreme edge of Holetown. They were 
just grumbling at the lack of game when they 

heard a distant horn. The sound came from per- 
haps a mile or more away, but was quite distinct. 

"What's that? Somebody fox-hunting? — or 
is it a dinner-horn ? " asked Willy, listening intently. 

"It's a horn to warn deserters, that's what 
'tis," said Frank, pleased to show his superior 

" I tell you what to do : — let 's go and hunt de- 
serters," said Willy, eagerly. 

"All right. Won't that be fun!" and both 
boys set out down the road toward a point where 
they knew one of the paths ran into the pine-dis- 
trict, talking of the numbers of prisoners they 
expected to take. 

In an instant they were as alert and eager as 
young hounds on a trail. They had mapped out 
a plan before, and they knew exactly what they 
had to do. Frank was the captain, by right of his 
being older; and Willy was lieutenant, and was to 
obey orders. The chief thing thnt troubled them 
was that they did not wish to be seen by any of 
the women or children about the cabins, for they 
all knew the boys, because they were accustomed 
to come to Oakland for supplies ; then, too, the 
boys wished to remain on friendly terms with 
their neighbors. Another thing worried them. 
They did not know what to do with their prisoners 
after they should have captured them. However, 
they pushed on and soon came to a dim cart-way, 
which ran at right angles to the main road and 
which went into the very heart of Holetown. Here 
they halted to reconnoiter and to inspect their 

Even from the main road, the track, as it led 
off through the overhanging woods with thick un- 
derbrush of chinquapin bushes, appeared to the. 
boys to have something strange about it, though 
they had at other times walked it from end to end. 
Still, they entered boldly, clutching their guns. 
Willy suggested that they should go in Indian file 
and that the rear one should step in the other's 
footprints as the Indians do ; but Frank thought 
it was best to walk abreast, as the Indians walked 
in their peculiar way only to prevent an enemy 
who crossed their trail from knowing how many 
they were ; and, so far from it being any disad- 
vantage for the deserters to know their number, 
it was even better that they should know there 
were two, so that they would not attack from the 
rear. Accordingly, keeping abreast, they struck in; 
each taking the woods on one side of the road, 
which he was to watch and for which he was to be 

The farther they went the more indistinct the 
track became, and the wilder became the surround- 
ing woods. They proceeded with great caution, ex- 
amining every particularly thick clump of bushes; 




peeping behind each very large tree ; and occa- 
sionally even taking a glance up among its boughs, 
for they had themselves so often planned how, if 
pursued they would climb trees and conceal them- 
selves, that they would not have been at all sur- 
prised to find a fierce deserter, armed to the teeth, 
crouching among the branches. 

Though they searched carefully every spot 
where a deserter could possibly lurk, they passed 
through the oak woods and were deep in the pines 
without having seen any foe or heard a noise which 
could possibly proceed from one. A squirrel had 
daringly leaped from the trunk of a hickory-tree 
and run into the woods, right before them, stopping 
impudently to take a good look at them ; but they 
were hunting larger game than squirrels, and they 
resisted the temptation to take a shot at him, — an 
exercise of virtue which brought them a distinct 
feeling of pleasure. They were, however, begin- 
ning to be embarrassed as to their next course. 
They could hear the dogs barking, farther on in 
the pines, and knew they were approaching the 
vicinity of the settlement ; for they had crossed the 
little creek which ran through a thicket of elder 
bushes and " gums," and which marked the bound- 
ary of Holetown. Little paths, too, every now and 
then turned off from the main track and went into 
the pines, each leading to a cabin or bit of creek- 
bottom deeper in. They therefore were in a real 
dilemma concerning what to do ; and Willy's 
suggestion, to eat luncheon, was a welcome one. 
They determined to go a little way into the woods, 
where they could not be seen, and had just taken 
the luncheon out of the game-bag and were turning 
into a by-path, when they met a man who was 
coming along at a slow, lounging walk, and carry- 
ing a long single-barrelled shot-gun across his 

When first they heard him, they thought he 
might be a deserter ; but when he came nearer 
they saw that he was simply a countryman out 
hunting ; for his old game-bag (from which peeped 
a squirrel's tail) was over his shoulder, and he had 
no weapons at all, excepting that old squirrel-gun. 

"Good morning, sir," said both boys, politely. 

" Mornin' ! What luck y' all had ? " he asked 
good-naturedly, stopping and putting the butt of 
his gun on the ground, and resting lazily on it, pre- 
paratory to a chat. 

<• We 're not gunning ; we 're hunting deserters." 

" Huntin' deserters!" echoed the man with a 
smile which broke into a chuckle of amusement 
as the thought worked its way into his brain. 
" Ain't you see' none ? " 

"No," said both boys in a breath, greatly pleased 
^t his friendliness. "Do you know where any 
are ? " 

The man scratched his head, seeming to reflect. 

"Well, 'pears to me I hearn tell o' some, 'roun' 
to'des that-a-ways," making a comprehensive sweep 
of his arm in the direction just opposite to that 
which the boys were taking. "I seen the con- 
scrip'-guard a little while ago pokin' 'roun' this- 
a-way ; but Lor', that ain' the way to ketch 
deserters. I knows every foot o' groun' this-a-way, 
an' ef they was any deserters roun' here I 'd be 
mighty apt to know it ! " 

This announcement was an extinguisher to the 
boys' hopes. Clearly, they were going in the 
wrong direction. 

"We are just going to eat our luncheon," said 
Frank; " won't you join us? " 

Willy added his invitation to his brother's, and 
their friend politely accepted, suggesting that they 
should w alk back a little way and find a log. This 
all three did ; and in a few minutes they were en- 
joying the luncheon which the boys' mother had 
provided, while the stranger was telling the boys 
his views about deserters, which, to say the least, 
were very original. 

"I seen the conscrip'-guard jes' this mornin', 
ridin' 'round whar they knowed they war n' no 
deserters, but ole womens and childern," he said 
with his mouth full. " Why n't they go whar 
they knows deserters is?" he asked. 

" Where are they? We heard they had a cave 
down on the river, and we were goin' there," de- 
clared the boys. 

"Down on the river? — a cave? Ain' no cave 
down thar, without it's below Rockett's Mill; fur 
I 've hunted and fished ev'y foot o' that river up an' 
down both sides, an' t' ain' a hole thar, big enough 
to hide a' ole hyah, I ain' know." 

This proof was too conclusive to admit of further 

" Why don't yo/i go in the army ? " asked Willy, 
after a brief reflection. 

"What? Why don't / go in the army?" re- 
peated the hunter. " Why, I 's z« the army ! You 
did n' think I war n't in the army, did you?" 

The hunter's tone and the expression of his face 
were so full of surprise that Willy felt deeply mor- 
tified at his rudeness, and began at once to stam- 
mer something to explain himself, 

"I b'longs to Colonel Marshall's regiment,'' 
continued the man, "an' I 's been home sick on 
leave o' absence. Got wounded in the leg, an' 
I 's jes' gettin' well. I ain' rightly well enough to 
go back now, but I 's anxious to git back ; I 'm 
gwinc to-morrow mornin' ef I don' go this even- 
in'. You see I kin hardly walk now ! " and to 
demonstrate his lameness, he got up and limped 
a few yards. " I ain' well yit," he pursued, return- 
ing and dropping into his seat on the log, with 


his face drawn up by the pain the exertion had 
brought on. 

"Let me see your wound? Is it sore now?" 
asked Willy, moving nearer to the man with a look 
expressive of mingled curiosity and sympathy. 


nothin' 'bout that," and he opened his shirt and 
showed a triangular, purple scar on his shoulder. 

"You certainly must be a brave soldier," ex- 
claimed both boys, impressed at sight of the scar, 
their voices softened by fervent admiration. 


"the old man walked up to the door, and standing on one side flung it open." 

" You can't see it ; it 's up heah," said the soldier, 
touching the upper part of his hip; "an' I got 
another one heah," he added, placing his hand 
very gently to his side. " This one 's whar a Yan- 
kee run me through with his sword. Now, that one 
was where a piece of shell hit mc, — I don't kccr 

" Yes, I kep' up with the bes' of 'cm," he said, 
with a pleased smile. 

Suddenly a horn began to blow, " toot — toot — 
toot," as if all the " Millindys" in the world were 
being summoned. It was so near the boys that it 
quite startled them. 




" That 's for the deserters, now," they both ex- 

Their friend looked calmly up and down the 
road, both ways. 

" Them rascally conscrip'-guard been tellin' yoa 
all that, to gi' 'em some excuse for keepin' out 
o' th' army theyselves, — that 's all. Th' ain't no 
deserters any whar in all these parts, an' you kin 
tell 'em so. I 'm gwine down thar an' see what 
that horn 's a-blowin' fur ; hit 's somebody's dinner 
horn, orsump'n'," he added, rising and taking up 
his game-bag. 

'■ Can't we go with you ? " asked the boys. 

"Well, nor, I reckon you better not," he 
drawled; " thar 's some right bad dogs down thar 
in the pines, — mons'us bad; an' I 's gwine cut 
through the woods an' see ef I can't pick up a 
squ'rr'l, gwine 'long, for the ole 'ooman's supper, as 
I got to go 'way to-night or to-morrow ; she 's mighty 

"Is she poorly much?" asked Willy, greatly 
concerned. " We '11 get mamma to come and see 
her to-morrow, and bring her some bread." 

"Nor, she ain' so sick; that is to say, she jis' 
poorly and 'sturbed in her mind. She gittin' sort 
o' old. Here, y' all take these squ'rr'ls," he said, tak- 
ing the squirrels from his old game-bag and toss- 
ing them at Willy's feet. Both boys protested, 
but he insisted. "Oh, yes; I kin get some mo' 
fur her." 

" Y' all better go home. Well, good-bye, much 
obliged to you," and he strolled off with his gun 
in the bend of his arm, leaving the boys to admire 
and talk over his courage. 

They turned back, and had gone about a quarter 
of a mile, when they heard a great trampling of 
horses behind them. They stopped to listen, and 
in a little while a squadron of cavalry came in 
sight. The boys stepped to one side of the road 
to wait for them, eager to tell the important infor- 
mation they had received from their friend, that 
there were no deserters in that section. In a hur- 
ried consultation th'ey agreed not to tell that they 
had been hunting deserters themselves, as they 
knew the soldiers would only have a laugh at their 

"Hello, boys, what luck?" called the officer in 
the lead, in a friendly manner. 

They told him they had not shot anything ; that 
the squirrels had been given to them ; and then 
both boys inquired : 

" You all hunting for deserters ? " 

"You seen any?" asked the leader carelessly, 
while one or two men pressed their horses forward 

" No, th' ain't any deserters in this direction at 
all," said the boys, with conviction in their manner. 

Vol. XV.— 37. 

" How do you know? " asked the officer. 

" 'Cause a gentleman told us so." 

"Who? When? What gentleman ? " 

" A gentleman we met a little while ago." 

" How long ago ? Who was he ? " 

" Don't know who he was," said Frank. 

" When we were eating our snack," put in 
Willy, not to be left out. 

" How was he dressed ? Where was it ? What 
sort of man was he ? " eagerly inquired the lead- 
ing trooper. 

The boys proceeded to describe their friend, 
impressed by the intense interest accorded them 
by the listeners. 

" He was a sort of a man with red hair, and 
wore a pair of gray breeches and an old pair of 
shoes, and was in his shirt-sleeves." Frank was 
the spokesman. 

"And he had a gun, — a long squirrel-gun," 
added Willy, " and he said he belonged to Colonel 
Marshall's regiment." 

" Why, that 's Tim Mills. He 's a deserter him- 
self," exclaimed the captain. 

" No, he ain't, — he ain't any deserter," protested 
both at once. " He is a mighty brave soldier, and 
he 's been home on a furlough to get well of a 
wound on his leg where he was shot." 

" Yes, and it ain't well yet, but he 's going back 
to his command to-night or to-morrow morning, 
and he's got another wound in his side where a 
Yankee ran him through with his sword. We 
know he ain't any deserter." 

" How do you know all this ?" asked the officer. 

" He told us so himself, just now — a little while 
ago, that is," said the boys. 

The man laughed. 

" Why, he 's fooled you to death. That 's Tim 
himself, that 's been doing all the devilment about 
here. He is the worst deserter in the whole gang." 

" Wc saw the wound on his shoulder," declared 
the boys, still doubting. 

" I know it ; he 's got one there, — that 's what I 
know him by. Which way did he go, — and how 
long has it been ? " 

" He went that way, down in the woods ; and it 's 
been some time. He 's got away now." 

The lads by this time were almost convinced of 
their mistake ; but they could not prevent their 
sympathy from being on the side of their late 
agreeable companion. 

"We'll catch the rascal," declared the leadervery 
fiercely. "Come on, men, — he can't have gone 
far " ; and he wheeled his horse about and dashed 
back up the road at a great pace, followed by his 
men. The boys were half inclined to follow and 
aid in the capture; but Frank, after a moment's 
thought, said solemnly : 




" No, Willy ; an Arab never betrays a man who 
has eaten his salt. This man has broken bread 
with us; we can not give him up. I don't think 
we ought to have told about him as much as we did." 

This was an argument not to be despised. 

A little later, as the boys trudged home, they 
heard the horns blowing again a regular " toot- 
toot" for " Mellindy." It struck them that supper 
followed dinner very quickly in Holetown. 

When the troop passed by in the evening the 
men were in very bad humor. They had had a 
fruitless addition to their ride, and some of them 
were inclined to say that the boys had never seen 
any man at all, which the boys thought was pretty 
silly, as the man had eaten at least two-thirds of 
their luncheon. 

Somehow the story got out, and Hugh was very 
scornful because the boys had given their luncheon 
to a deserter. 

Chapter VHI. 

As time went by, the condition of things at 
Oakland changed — as it did everywhere else. 
The boys' mother, like all the other ladies of the 
country, was so devoted to the cause that she gave 
to the soldiers until there was nothing left. After 
that there was a failure of the crops, and the im- 
mediate necessities of the family and the hands on 
the place were great. 

There was no sugar nor coffee nor tea. These 
luxuries had been given up long before. An at- 
tempt was made to manufacture sugar out of the 
sorghum, or sugar-cane, which was now being 
cultivated as an experiment ; but it proved unsuc- 
cessful, and molasses made from the cane was 
the only sweetening. The boys, however, never 
liked anything sweetened with molasses, so they 
gave up everything that had molasses in it. Sas- 
safras-tea was tried as a substitute for tea, and a 
drink made out of parched corn and wheat, of 
burnt sweet-potato and other things, in the place 
of coffee ; but none of them were fit to drink — at 
least so the boys thought. The wheat crop proved 
a failure ; but the corn turned out very fine, and 
the boys learned to live on corn-bread, as there was 
no wheat-bread. 

The soldiers still came by, and the house was 
often full of young officers who came to see the 
boys' cousins. The boys used to ride the horses 
to and from the stables, and, being perfectly fear- 
less, became very fine riders. 

Several times, among the visitors, came the 
young colonel who had commanded the regiment 
that had camped at the bridge the first year of the 
war. It did not seem to the boys that Cousin Belle 
liked him, for she took much longer to dress when 

he came ; and if there were other officers present 
she would take very little notice of the colonel. 

Both boys were in love with her, and after con- 
siderable hesitation had written her a joint letter 
to tell her so, at which she laughed heartily and 
kissed them both and called them her sweet- 
hearts. But, though they were jealous of several 
young officers who came from time to time, they 
felt sorry for the colonel, — their cousin was so 
mean to him. They were on the best terms with 
him, and had announced their intention of going 
into his regiment if only the war should last long 
enough. When he came, there was always a 
scramble to get his horse ; though of all who came 
to Oakland he rode the wildest horses, as both 
boys knew by practical experience. 

At length the soldiers moved off too far to per- 
mit them to come on visits, and things were very 
dull. So it was for a long while. 

But one evening in May, about sunset, as the 
boys were playing in the yard, a man came rid- 
ing through the place on the way to Richmond. 
His horse showed that he had been riding hard. 
He asked the nearest way to " Ground- Squirrel 
Bridge." The Yankees, he said, were coming. 
It was a raid. He had ridden ahead of them, and 
had left them about Greenbay depot, which they 
had set on fire. He was in too great a hurry to stop 
and get something to eat, and he rode off, leav- 
ing much excitement behind him; for Greenbay 
was only about eight miles away, and Oakland lay 
right between two roads to Richmond, down one 
or the other of which the party of raiders must 
certainly pass. 

It was the first time the boys ever saw their 
mother exhibit so much emotion as she then did. 
She came to the door and called : 

"Balla, come here." Her voice sounded to the 
boys a little strained, and they ran up the steps 
and stood by her. Balla came to the portico, and 
looked up with an air of inquiry. He, too, showed 

" Balla, I want you to know that if you wish to 
go, you can do so." 

"Hi, Mistis " began Balla, with an air of 

reproach ; but she cut him short and kept on. 

" I want you all to know it." She was speaking 
now so as to be heard by the cook and the maids 
who were standing about the yard listening to her. 
"I want you all to know it — every one on the 
place ! You can go if you wish ; but, if you go, 
you can never come back ! " 

"Hi! Mistis," broke in Uncle Balla, " whar is 
I got to go ? I wuz born on dis place an' I 'spec' 
to die here, an' be buried right yonder" ; and he 
turned and pointed up to the dark clump of trees 
that had marked the grave-yard on the hill, a half 




mile away, where the colored people were buried. 
" Dat I does," he affirmed positively. " Y' all 
sticks by us an' we '11 stick by you." 

"I know I ain' gwine nowhar wid no Yankees 
or nothin'," said Lucy Ann, in an undertone. 

" Dee tell me dee got hoofs and horns," laughed 
one of the women in the yard. 

The boys' mother started to say something fur- 


ther to Balla, but though she opened her lips, she 
did not speak ; she turned suddenly and walked 
into the house and into her chamber, where she 
shut the door behind her. The boys thought she 
was angry, but when they softly followed her a few 
minutes afterward, she got up hastily from where 
she had been kneeling beside the bed, and they 
saw that she had been crying. A murmur under 
the window called them back to the portico. It 
had begun to grow dark ; but a bright spot was 

glowing on the horizon, and on this every one's 
gaze was fixed. 

"Where is it, Balla? What is it?" asked the 
boys' mother, her voice no longer strained and 
harsh, but even softer than usual. 

" It 's the depot, madam. They 's burnin' it. That 
man told me they was burnin' ev'ywhar they went." 
"Will they be here to-night ? " asked his mistress. 

" No, marm ; I don' hard- 
ly think they will. That 
man said they could n"t 
travel more than thirty 
miles a day ; but they '11 
be plenty of 'em here 
to-morrow — to breakfast." 
He gave a nervous sort of 

"Here, — you all come 
here," said their mistress to 
the servants. She went to 
the smoke-house and un- 
locked it. " Go in there 
and get down the bacon — 
take a piece, each of you." 
A great deal was still left. 
"Balla, step here." She 
called him aside and spoke 
earnestly in an undertone. 

" Yes'm, that' s so ; that's 
jes' what I wuz gwine do," 
the boys heard him say. 

Their mother sent the 
boys out. She went and 
locked herself in her room, 
but they heard her footsteps 
as she turned about within, 
and now and then they 
heard her opening and shut- 
ting drawers and moving 

In a little while she came 

"Frank, you and Willy 
go and tell Balla to come 
to the chamber door. He 
may be out in the stable." 
They dashed out, proud 
to bear so important a message. They could not 
find him, but an hour later they heard him com- 
ing from the stable. He at once went into the 
house. They rushed into the chamber, where 
they found the door of the closet open. 

"Balla, come in here," called their mother from 
within. " Have you got them safe? " she asked. 

" Yes 'm ; jes' as safe as they kin be. I want 
to be 'bout here when they come, or I 'd go down 
an' stay whar they is." 




" What is it? " asked the boys. 

"Where is the best place to put that?" she 
said, pointing to a large, strong box in which, they 
knew, the finest silver was kept ; indeed, all except- 
ing what was used every day on the table. 

'•Well, I declar', Mistis, that's hard to tell," 
said the old driver, "without it 's in the stable." 

" They may burn that down." 

" That 's so ; you might bury it under the lloor 
of the smoke-house ? " 

" I have heard that they always look for silver 
there," said the boys' mother. " How would it do 
to bury it in the garden? " 

"That's the very place I was gwine name," 
said Balla, with flattering approval. " They can't 
burn that down, and if they gwine dig for it then 
they '11 have to dig a long time before they git 
over that big garden." He stooped and lifted up 
one end of the box to test its weight. 

" I thought of the other end of the flower-bed, 
between the big rose-bush and the lilac." 

"That's the very place 1 had in my mind," 
declared the old man. " They won' never fine it 
dyah ! " 

" We know a good place," said the boys both 
together; "it's a heap better than that. It's 
where we bury our treasures when we play ' Black- 
beard the Pirate.'" 

" Very well," said their mother; " I don't care 
to know where it is until after to-morrow, anyhow. 
I know I can trust you," she added, addressing 

" Yes 'm, you know dat," said he, simply. " I '11 
jes' go an' git my hoe." 

" The garden ain't got a roof to it, has it, Unc' 
Balla? " asked Willy, quietly. 

" Go 'way from here, boy," said the old man, 
making a sweep at him with his hand. " That 
boy ain' never done talkin' 'bout that thing yit," 
he added, with a pleased laugh, to his mistress. 

" And you ain't never give me all those chickens 
either," responded Willy, forgetting his grammar. 

"Oh, well, I 'm gwV do it; ain't you hear me 
say I 'm gwine do it ? " he laughed as he went out. 

The boys were too excited to get sleepy before 
the silver was hidden. Their mother told them 
they might go down into the garden and help 
Balla, on condition that they would not talk. 

"That's the way we always do when we bury 
the treasure. Ain't it, Willy ? " asked Frank. 

" If a man speaks, it 's death ! " declared Willy, 
slapping his hand on his side as if to draw a 
sword, striking a theatrical attitude and speaking 
in a deep voice. 

" Give the ' galleon ' to us," said Frank. 

" No ; be off with you," said their mother. 

" That ain't the way," said Frank. " A pirate 

never digs the hole until he has his treasure at 
hand. To, do so would prove him but a novice; 
would n't it, Willy? " 

"Well, I leave it all to you, my little Bucca- 
neers," said their mother, laughing. " I '11 take 
care of the spoons and forks we use every day. 
I '11 just hide them away in a hole somewhere." 

The boys started ofi" after Balla with a shout, 
but remembered their errand and suddenly hushed 
down to a little squeal of delight at being actu- 
ally engaged in burying treasure — real silver. It 
seemed too good to be true, and withal there was 
a real excitement about it, for how could they 
know but that some one might watch them from 
some hiding-place, or might even fire into them 
as they worked ? 

They met the old fellow as he was coming from 
the carriage-house with a hoe and a spade in his 
hands. He was on his way to the garden in a very 
straightforward manner, but the boys made him 
understand that to bury treasure it was necessary 
to be particularly secret, and after some little 
grumbling, Balla humored them. 

The difficulty of getting the box of silver out of 
the house secretly, whilst all the family were up, 
and the servants were moving about, was so great 
that this part of the affair had to be carried on in 
a manner different from the usual programme of 
pirates of the first water. Even the boys had to 
admit this ; and they yielded to old Balla's advice 
on this point, but made up for it by additional for- 
mality, ceremony, and secrecy in pointing out the 
spot where the box was to be hid. 

Old Balla was quite accustomed to their games 
and fun — their " pranks," as he called them. He 
accordingly yielded willingly when they marched 
him to a point at the lower end of the yard, on the 
opposite side from the garden, and left him. But 
he was inclined to give trouble when they both re- 
appeared with a gun, and in a whisper announced 
that they must march first up the ditch which ran 
by the spring around the foot of the garden. 

" Look here, boys ; I ain' got time to fool with 
you children," said the old man. " Ain't you 
hear your ma tell me she 'pend on me to bury that 
silver what yo' gran'ma and gran'pa used to eat 
off o' — an' don' wan' nobody to know nothin' 
'bout it? An' y' all comin' here with guns, like 
you huntin' squ'rr'ls, an' now talkin' 'bout wadin' 
in de ditch ! " 

'■ But, Unc' Balla, that 's the way all buccaneers 
do," protested Frank. 

" Yes, buccaneers always go by water," said 

" And we can stoop in the ditch and come in at 
the far end of the garden, so nobody can see us," 
added Frank. 



'• Bookanear or bookafar, — I 'se gwine in dat 
garden and dig a hole wid my hoe, an' I is too ole 
to be wadin' in a ditch Uke chillern. I got de 
misery in my knee now, so bad I 'se sca'cely able to 
stand. I don' know huccome y' all ain't satisfied 
with the place you' ma an' I done pick, anyways." 

This was too serious a mutiny for the boys. So 
it was finally agreed that one gun should be re- 
turned to the office, and that they should enter by 
the gate, after which Balla was to go with the boys 
by the way they should show him, and see the spot 
they thought of. 

They took him down through the weeds around 
the garden, crouching under the rose-bushes, and 
at last stopped at a spot under the slope, com- 
pletely surrounded by shrubbery. 

"Here is the spot," said Frank in a whisper, 
pointing under one of the bushes. 

" It 's in a line with the longest limb of the big 
oak-tree by the gate," added Willy, " and when 
this locust bush and that cedar grow to be big 
trees, it will be just half-way between them." 

As this seemed to Balla a very good place, he 
set to work at once to dig, the two boys helping 
him as well as they could. It took a great deal 
longer to dig the hole in the dark, than they had 
expected, and when they got back to the house 
everything was quiet. 

The boys had their hats pulled over their eyes, 
and had turned their jackets inside out to disguise 

" It 's a first-rate place ! Ain't it, Unc' Balla?" 
they said, as they entered the chamber where their 
mother and aunt were waiting for them. 

" Do you think it will do, Balla ? " their mother 

(To be i 

" Oh, yes, madam ; it 's far enough, an' they 
got mighty comical ways to get dyah, wadin' in 
ditch an' things — it will do. I ain' show I kin 
fin' it ag'in myself." He was not particularly en- 
thusiastic. Now, however, he shouldered the box, 
with a grunt at its weight, and the party went 
slowly out through the back door into the dark. 
The glow of the burning depot was still visible in 
the west. 

Then it was decided that Willy should go before 
— he said "to reconnoiter," Balla said "to open the 
gate and lead the way," — and that Frank should 
bring up the rear. 

They trudged slowly on through the darkness, 
Frank and Willy watching on every side, old 
Balla stooping under the weight of the big box. 

After they were some distance in the garden 
they heard, or thought they heard, a sound back 
at the gate, but decided that it was nothing but 
the latch clicking ; and they went on down to their 

In a little while the black box was well settled 
in the hole, and the dirt was thrown upon it. The 
replaced earth made something of a mound, which 
was unfortunate. They had not thought of this ; 
but they covered it with leaves, and agreed that it 
was so well hidden, the Yankees would never dream 
of looking there. 

"Unc' Balla, where are your horses?" asked 
one of the boys. 

" That 's for me to know, an' them to find out 
that kin," replied the old fellow with a chuckle of 

The whole party crept back out of the garden, 
and the boys were soon dreaming of buccaneei*s 
and pirates. 

itimied, ) 

By Celia Thaxter. 

" O COSETTE, you are the dearest kitty ! " And 
little Max, who spoke, laid his golden head against 
the soft fur of the big Maltese cat, and hugged her 
tight with both arms. 

A gypsy fire of light driftwood sticks was spark- 
ling and crackling on the hearth; the children 
were gathered about it, Robert and Rose, Lctticc, 
Elinor, and little Max. The rain was falling mer- 
rily on the roof of the low, brown cottage where 
they had come to live for the summer. Mamma, 
with her work, sat in the corner of the sofa near. 

"Well, how it does pour!" said Letty, going 
to 'the window. The rest followed her, and stood 
looking out. They saw the gray sea, calm and 
silvery, slowly rolling toward the gray sand, break- 
ing in long, lazy lines of white foam at the edge 
of the beach. A few small boats were moored 
near; to the left, not far away, a cluster of fish- 
houses, old and storm-worn, their roofs spotted 
with yellow lichens, stood on the shore. There 
were no sails in sight, — only dim sea, dim sky, 
and pouring rain. 

" We can't go out to-day at all ! " said Rose. 

" Not all the long day ? " questioned Max, wist- 

" Oh, perhaps it will clear off by and by," Elinor, 
the elder, said. "Who knows? Never mind if it 
does n't, we can have a good time in the house; 
can't we, Rob ? " 

" Yes, we can ! " Rob cried. " 1 'm going to 
make boats for us all, a whole fleet ! Won't that 
be a good thing, Mamma? And then, as soon as 
it clears off, we '11 launch them and send them off 
to Spain. You find some stiff white paper, girls. 
Mamma will give us some; I '11 go out to the shed 
for lumber to build my ships," and away he went. 
Mamma provided scissors and paper. Elinor turned 
back the rug to make a place for Rob to whittle; 
presently he returned with a basket of driftwood, 
bits of many sizes and shapes, some w orn smooth 
as satin by the touches of millions of waves, hav- 
ing floated on the ocean, Heaven alone knows how 

" Now, is n't this fun ! " he said, as they all sat 
together round the basket. Rose and Lettice with 
the scissors shaping sails under his direction, while 
he proceeded to turn out of his pocket the fifty 
things, more or less, that go to make up the freight 
a boy generally carries ; of course, the knife, 
being heaviest, was at the bottom. A roll of stout, 
brown twine caught Max's eye. 

" Please, Rob, let me have it to play with, for 
reins to drive Rose," he begged ; so Rob tossed it 
over to him where he sat curled up with his kitty. 

"There it is, Maxie ! Now, let 's begin to 
name our boats, girls. I 'm going to call mine 
the 'Emperor,' 'cause it 's going to lead the 
fleet ! " 




"Mine shall be the ' Butterfly,' " said Rose. 
"That 's good ! What for yours, Letty ? " 
" I think the ' Kittiwakc' will be a good name 
for mine." 

" Yes, that will do. And what shall yours be, 
Nelly ? " 

" Oh, the ' Albatross,' because he flies so fast 
without moving his wings I " 

" That 's fine ! Now, Max, what are you going 
to call your boat ? " 

Max was turning over the bits of wood in the 
basket. Inside the edge he had just found a brown, 
woolly caterpillar. "Oh," he cried. "See! A 
pillow cat ! A pillow cat ! " 

"You mean a caterpillar, dear," said Letty. 

"Do let him call it a pillow cat, Letty dear," 
said Mamma ; " he is n't much more than my baby 
yet, you knovv'." 

" But you don't want your ship called the ' Pil- 
low Cat,' do you, Max?" asked Rob. They all 
laughed, tried this name and that, but nothing 
seemed to suit Max, who said ' ' No " to everything ; 
so they left it to be decided afterward. They 
watched their ship-builder with great pride and 
interest, but after a while they grew tired. 

" Let 's play cat's-cradle with Max's string," 
Rose said to Letty at last, and they proceeded to 
try; but Rose did not know how, and Letty only 
half remembered, so they appealed to Rob. 

"Do please leave off whittling a minute and 
show us how, Rob." 

Being a good-natured brother, he threw down his 
knife and stood up before Letty while he showed 
her the ins and outs of the complicated web. Very 
soon she learned how to make it, then taught Rose, 
and they amused themselves for some time while 
Rob worked away, and Max played with his dear 
kitty, and Mamma and Elinor were sewing and 
talking together. Soon as the "Butterfly" was 
finished, the girls rigged her with the square, 
white paper sails, and she was "stowed" (as Bob 
nautically expressed it) on the mantel-piece, for 
safety. Then the "Emperor" was begun, but 
before it was half done lunch was ready : still it 
rained, perpendicularly pouring. Papa had been 
busy in the study all the morning, but after lunch 
he sat with the children, taking Max upon his 

" I '11 begin Max's boat," he said. " Now, 
Mamma, won't you tell us a story ? We can 
work so much faster, you know." 

"Elinor is the story-teller of the family," Mamma 
replied. " Let her try." So Elinor began. Rose 
curled up on the rug, Letty held Cosette, Max 
laid his pretty head against Papa's shoulder, 
and "all watched the whittling while they listened 
to Elinor. 

"Once upon a time," she began, and her 
pleasant voice went on and on ; the rain pat- 
tered gently and steadily ; the long surf whis- 
pered with a soft, hushing sound, and presently, 
before they knew it. Max was sound asleep. Papa 
laid him among the cushions by Mamma's side 
and went back to his books ; then they found 
Rose had fallen sound asleep too. But the rain 
went on, and the story, and the whispering rush 
of the water, till suddenly Rose laughed out in 
her sleep so loud that she waked, sat up, rubbed 
her eyes, and then began to laugh again. 

" What 2S the matter. Rosy ? " they asked her. 

" Oh, such a funny dream," she said. " Such a 
gneer dream. I thought I was standing down by 
the marsh where the cat-o'-nine-tails grow, you 
know; — the moon was just coming up over the 
water, yellow, and big, and round, and 1 thought 
it had such a funny face with two eyes that kept 
blinking and winking, first at me and then at the 
tall reeds ; and suddenly I heard a rustling, and 
up the long stalks I saw a gray mother-cat climb- 
ing, and after her five little gray kittens, — oh, 
so pretty and so tiny. They had such hard work 
to climb, for the bending stalks were slippery, — 
and they bent more and more the higher the little 
cats climbed. But they kept on, one kitty out- 
stripped the rest and almost reached the brown, 
heavy reed-tops, when all at once I saw that the 
ends were hung with little cradles, — real cradles, 
with real rockers, — and the first thing I knew, that 
foremost kitty had jumped in and cuddled down 
in the nearest cradle, and there she swung, to 
and fro, up and down (for the wind was blowing 
too), and she looked so pretty with her little ears 
sticking up and her bright eyes shining, as she 
watched the other kittens climbing after her, for 
there was a cradle for every one of them to rock 
in. Then when they were all in, it was so comical 
I laughed aloud, and that woke me. But I wish 
we had the kits and the cradles to play with here ! " 

"Cat's-cradle!" said Elinor; "why wouldn't 
that he a good name for Max's boat ? " 

" Why, yes," they cried; " would n't you like 
it. Max? Shall your boat be called the ' Cat's- 

" Yes," answered Max, who had waked and 
listened with interest to Rose's dream, " kitty shall 
go sail in her, rock, rock, on the water." So it 
was settled. 

" Just look at the sun ! " cried Letty, for a great 
glory suddenly streamed in from the west, where 
the sun was sinking toward the sea, and flooded 
the room with gold. 

"Fair day to-morrow!" cried Rob. "All the 
fleet can start for Spain! — ' Cat's-Cradle' and all, 
for that is done, too," and he ranged the little 




vessels in a row on the shelf. Manama laughed 
to see her mantel turned into a ship-yard ; and the 
children went to rest that night full of glad hopes 
for the morrow. 

The day rose bright and fair. After breakfast 
they prepared to go down to the beach for their 

"Let's man all the boats," said Rob; "let's 
take Max's Noah's Ark and put passengers on 
board every one, out of the Ark!" 

" If Max is willing," suggested Elinor. 

"Are you, Max?" asked Letty. "Oh, yes! 
We '11 send Noah to Spain in the ' Cat's-Cradle ' ! 
That will be fun ! Are you willing ? Yes ? " and 
away she ran upstairs and came back with the toy 
in her hand, shaking dogs, cats, elephants, and 
rats together with Noah and his family in hopeless 

Cosette was rubbing her head affectionately 
against Max's stout little legs. 

"Let 's take the kitty, too; she wants to go," 
he said ; and out they flocked together, Cosette 
following, all dancing and capering toward the low 
rocks where the fish-houses stood, to reach a small, 
pebbly cove beyond, where the water was smooth 
as glass. Old Jerry, the fisherman, sat mending 
his net on the shore ; he greeted them as they went 
skipping by, each with boat in hand. 

"Fine mornin' for your launch," quoth he; 
"wind off shore and everythhig fair." 

"Yes, they 're all bound for Spain," said Rob 
in great glee. " Do you think they '11 get there 
to-day ? " 

"Shouldn't wonder," answered Jerry, with a 
smile. "You never know what may happen in 
this 'ere world." 

Max stood with Cosette in his arms watching his 
brother and sisters man the fleet. 

" I think Father Noah ought to sail in the 
' Emperor,' don't you ?" asked Rob, " because he 
must lead the ships, you know. Shall he. Max ? 
Oh, yes, he 's willing! Then Mrs. Noah shall go 
in the ' Albatross,' and Hnm in the ' Kittiwake,' 
and Shem on board the ' Butterfly,' and who shall 
go in the 'Cat's-Cradle,' Max?" 

" I want to go myself! " was Max's unexpected 

"Oh, you dear baby! don't you see that you 're 
too big?" cried Rose. 

"No — boat's too small," said Max. "Put 
Noah's kitty in, — she 's little enough." 

"Well, she can go with Japhet," and they 
sought among the wooden beasts till Noah's kitty 
was found ; then off started the tiny vessels to- 
gether ; first the " Emperor," with Father Noah 
standing up straight and fine in the stern ; then 
the "Albatross" with Mother Noah; after them 

the three other boats, their stiff, white sails shin- 
ing in the sun and taking the wind bravely. The 
children watched breathlessly as the small ships 
lifted over the ripples, making their way out of 
the quiet cove, till they felt the stronger wind be- 
yond and began to sail rapidly away. For a while 
they kept quite near together, but at last they 
strayed apart, though still obeying the outward- 
blowing wind. 

" Look at old Noah," cried Rob, " standing 
up so brave ! Oh, he 's a great commander ! " 

" Dear me, but see Mrs. Noah ! She 's fallen 
over ! " cried Letty. " Poor thing ! She must 
be frightened." 

" No, she 's only dizzy. There 's so much more 
motion than there was in the Ark ! " 

A long time they stood watching till the little 
white sails were a mere shimmer on the water. 

"When will they come back?" asked Max. 
" At supper-time ? " 

" Not so soon, I 'm afraid, Max dear." 

" Well, to-morrow, then. Will they come back 

" I cannot tell." 

" But I luant them to come back," the little boy 
said, half crying. " I want to go and get them 
and bring them home." 

" But, Max, it takes a long time to sail all the 
way to Spain," Rose explained. " You '11 have 
to wait with patience till they are ready to come 

Max's lip curled grievously. " I want my 
boat, my 'Cat's-Cradle,' and my Noah," he said. 

" Now, Max, nevermind ! Come and see what 
Jerry is doing ! He 's building a fire of sticks and 
he 's going to mend his boat with tar. Just come 
and look at him ! " They drew the little brother 
away. For a while he was interested in Jerry's 
work, but soon his eyes turned wistfully again to 
the water. 

" I see them ! " he cried. " 'Way, 'way off!" 

The others looked ; they could see just a glim- 
mer of white in the blue ; they could not really 
tell if it were a white gull's breast on the heaving 
brine, or their flitting skiffs. 

" Now, let them go, dear Max! We'll get 
some baskets and go after berries up beyond the 
pasture, and we '11 find some flowers to bring 
home to Mamma ; that will be lovely ; Cosette 
shall come, too"; and Max cheered up, took a 
hand of Rose and Letty and turned from the glit- 
tering blue sea. 

"You go on," Rob said; "Nelly and I will 
get the baskets and follow you." So the three 
went up the scented slope together, through the 
sweet-fern and baybcrry, where here and there 
a golden-rod plume was breaking into sunshine at 

i88s.] cat's-cradle. 585 

the top, till they reached a big rock in a grassy that way and then over so, and round j^?/ then you 

spot, where they stopped to wait for the others, take these two ends in your hands and hold them 

Cosette was put down in the grass, and ran off loosely, and Rose takes the other two ends, and 

toward home as fast as she could. Max's grief when I say, ' now ! ' pull both together, and see 

came upon him afresh at this second loss. what a tight square knot it makes ! Now, you 

" Now, don't fret, dear," Letty cried. "Where's try, ^lax ! " 

your piece of string, sweetheart ! Is n't it in your 
little pocket ? Feel and see ; 1 '11 show you how 
to make a wonderful knot Jerry showed me." 

Max's eyes brightened as he felt in his pocket 
for the twine. 

"Now, sec," said Lctty ; "I take two pieces, 
so, and I put this end round this way and through 

Max took the string and the knot. 

" I can witie it," he said ; and forthwith began 
picking at it industriously with his little fingers 
till the ends began to loosen ; he would really 
have accomplished the undoing had not Elinor 
and Rob arrived with the baskets ; then they 
began picking berries in earnest. It was not long 




before they had their baskets full. They gathered 
early asters and yellow rudbeckia for Mamma, 
and among the trees beyond the pasture they 
found the red wood-lilies burning like beautiful 
lamps in the green shade. When Max was 
tired, Elinor and Rob made a carriage for him, 
clasping each other's wrists with their crossed 
hands ; so he rode home triumphant ; and they 
trooped in together, weary, rosy and happy with 
their treasures. 

" My boat sailed away. Mamma," said Max, as 
they sat at table. 

" But all our boats went w ith it to keep it com- 
pany, you know," said Letty. 

" Yes, but I want to go after it and bring it 
home," insisted Max ; and again they had to divert 
his mind from his loss. 

In the afternoon they went clown to play on the 
sands as usual, Max's nurse, Molly, accompanying. 
Jerry's mended dory was floating in the shallow 
cove ; they begged to be allowed to get into it, 
"just for fun," and the old man put them in, 
Cosette and all, for kitty went with them every- 
where. They put Max in the bow with his cat in 
his lap, and rocked the boat gently to and fro. 

" Oh, look at the white gull ! " cried Letty, as 
one swept over them ; " Look, Max ! It is white 
as Mamma's day-lilies in the garden ! " But his 
eyes were fixed on the horizon line, where shining 
sails were dreaming far away in the sunshine. 

" There they are ! They 're coming home ! " 
he cried. 

" No, Maxie ; those are bigger boats than ours." 

"But where have they gone. Rose ? Let 's go 
after them, now, in this boat. I can untie the 
rope," he cried, and he began to work on the knot 
which fastened the boat's "painter" to the bow. 
They let him work, since it seemed to amuse him 
so much, but they did not notice that he really 
made an impression on the large knot (which was 
not fastened very firmly) before they left the boat. 
When Jerry lifted him out, be whispered in the old 
man's ear, "To-morrow may I go in your boat to 
find Noah and the ' Cat's-Cradle ' ? " 

" Oh, yes, to-night, if you want to go," said 

" And Cosette, too? " 

" Sartin ! sartm ! " laughed Jerry, so Max was 
comforted. " They 're all gone," he said to Letty, 
looking out over the sea, " but we are going after 
them to bring them home, Cosette and I." 

" Really, Max ? " 

" Yes, Jerry said so." 

" Jerry should n't promise," Letty said ; but she 
did not wish to grieve her little brother afresh, so 
she let the matter drop. 

Molly gave him his supper and put him into his 

small white bed; tired and sleepy, he was soon in 
the land of dreams. 

The rest of the family were at dinner. From 
the dining-room windows they saw the great disk 
of ihe full moon rising in the violet east, while the 
west was yet glowing with sunset. The sea was 
full of rosy reflections; across the waves fell the 
long path of scattered silver radiance the moon 
sent down; a warm wind breathed gently from the 

"Oh, Papa," said Elinor, "let's go and ask 
Jerry to take us out sailing in the 'Claribel.' It 
is so lovely on the water ! " 

" Well, my dear, I'm willing, but Mamma 
does n't like sailing, you know." 

" I '11 stay with Mamma. I don't like sailing, 
cither," said Letty. "We don't mind, do we, 
Mamma? " 

"Why, no," said Mamma. "Do go! Letty 
and I will take a walk together. It is much too 
beautiful to stay indoors." 

So Papa with his little flock set out for Jerry and 
the "Claribel," while Mamma and Letty made 
ready for their walk; but before leaving the house 
they went into the nursery to see that Max was 
asleep and comfortable. 

"We are going out, Molly," said Mrs. Lam- 
bert to the nurse. " Take good care of Max." 

" Sure and I always goes to look at him every 
little while, ma'am," said Molly. 

" Yes, I know you do. Come, Letty, are you 
ready? " and they went out into the fragrant dusk 
together, strolling toward the pasture inland. 

The boat meanwhile, with its happy crew, had 
been fanned away quite a distance from the warm 
land. A few faint clouds had gathered, which float- 
ing slowly up the sky helped to deepen the balmy 
darkness. The brown cottage was left quite alone 
except for slumbering Max, the servants, and 
Cosette who lay luxuriously napping on the parlor 
rug. Presently she woke, stretched her long, 
lithe body, sat up and looked about. All was 
dark and still. I suppose she wondered where 
everybody was ; at any rate, she went out of the 
door, up the stairs, and finding the nursery door 
ajar — as careful Molly had left it so that she 
might hear Max if he should call — Cosette walked 
in, jumped up on her little master's bed, and began 
purring aflectionately and rubbing her whiskers 
against Max's rosy cheek. He half woke, and 
spoke out of his dreams. " Cosette," he said, 
"now it's time to go and find Noah and all the 
boats, and the 'Cat's-Cradle,' and Noah's kitty; 
isn't it time, Cosette?" 

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The moon at 
that moment was clear and filled the room with 




" Cosette," he whispered; " let 's go, you and I, 
in Jerry's boat." 

Cosette purred and cuddled close to him. He 
slipped out of his low bed and took the cat into 
his arms. Molly was having her tea downstairs; 
no one was nigh. His little bare feet made no 
noise on the stair; the front door was open ; there 
was nothing to hinder them. A few minutes 
more and they were out on the sands. Nobody 
saw the small white figure, with gold hair softly 
blown about, carrying the gray cat slowly down 
to the water. They reached the little cove and 
Jerry's dory. A battered log of driftwood lay 
half in and half out of the water. Max pushed 
the cat before him and climbed on this, and so 
crept over the edge of the boat into the bow. 

" I can untie the rope, Kitty, I know the way !" 
and he began to work at the knot. It was so loose 
that he soon had it untied. 

" Why don't we sail away ? " said the little boy, 
and forthwith began leaning from side to side, 
rocking the boat as he had learned to do in the 
afternoon. Presently she began to move and slide 
off; the tide was ebbing, the wind blew from the 
land, both helped her away till she drifted slowly 
out of the cove, beyond the rocks and out to sea. 
Max was delighted. "Now, we 're going to find 
them, Kitty ! Now we '11 bring them all back to 
Letty, and Rose, and Rob ! " 

The dory floated away into the dark. Nobody 
saw it, nobody knew. The wind over the water 
was cooler than on shore, and Max's little night- 
dress was thin. He looked about everywhere over 
the dark waves, and shivered. 

" Where 's Mamma?" he said. " Will we find 
the boats soon, Cosette?" Again the light clouds 
sailed across the moon. He shrank from the sight 
of the dark water; presently he slipped down into 
the deep bow of the boat, protected from the wind 
and hugging the warm kitty fast. "By and by 
we '11 get to Noah," he said, drowsily. The lulling 
sound of the light ripples and the rocking of the 
drifting dory soon sent him into dreamland 
again; — so they floated away on the wide sea and 
no one knew anything about it. 

Molly finished her tea and went to the stairs 
to listen for any sound that might come from the 
nursery. All was still. 

" Sure it 's tired the darlin' do be," she said, 
" trampin' round on his two little futs the long day ! 
He sleeps sound when he sleeps at all," and she 
went back to continue her chat with Betty the 
cook. She stayed longer than she thought; it 
was full half an hour before she crept upstairs to 
look at her pet. She was surprised to find the 
nursery door wide open. Entering hurriedly she 
saw the little white bed empty and cold. " Max ! 

Max, darlin'! where do ye be hidin' from Molly?" 
She ran from one room to another seeking him, 
calling till her voice brought the cook and the 
maid rushing upstairs to see what was the matter. 
"He's gone ! " cried Molly. ' ' Mother of Heaven ! 
he 's gone ! " and she began to wail and cry like a 

" Stop your deavin', Molly," cried the frightened 
Betty. " Sure and it 's only downstairs he 's 
gone. We '11 find him below." They ran down. 
Here, there, everywhere over the whole house they 
went; not a trace of him could they find. 

" Oh, it 's kidnapped he is, sure ! Oh, what '11 
I do, what '11 1 do ! " cried Molly, and she ran out- 
of-doors to meet Mrs. Lambert and Letty who 
were coming up the path to the house. 

"Oh, Missis, have yez seen him?" she cried, 
half distracted. 

"Who, Molly?" cried Letty, and the mother's 
heart stopped beating as the maid answered: 

" The baby ! Sure the baby 's gone entirely. 
I can't find him in the whole house ! " 

"Molly! are you wild? What can you mean! 
Max gone ?" She flew upstairs, followed by Letty 
dumb with fear. There was the little empty bed, 
with a dimple in the pillow where the golden head 
had lain. Pale with anxiety, they sought him 
everywhere, at last ran out of the house and up 
and down the sands, but never a sign of Max or 
Cosette could they find. 

Meanwhile, Jerry's whaleboat, the "Claribel," 
was making its way back, beating up toward the 
shore against the light and baffling wind with the 
happy party on board. The moon gave but a faint 
luster through the light clouds, by which they 
could see the outlines of the land. The girls had 
turned up their sleeves, and held their arms as 
deep down as they could reach into the water to 
see the phosphorescence blaze at every movement, 
outlining their fingers in fire and rolling in foamy 
flame up to their elbows; the boat's keel seemed 
cutting through this soft, cold flame ; it was won- 
derful and beautiful, and they never tired of 
watching it. 

" I should be glad if the wind would freshen a 
little," their father said, presently. "This is all 
very charming, but we are going to be late home 
for little folks, I 'm afraid," and he drew Rose to 
his knee. 

" Are n't you tired, little girl ? " 

" No, Papa," but she laid her head on his shoul- 
der. " Shall we soon be there, now. Papa ? " 

" I hope so," he replied. " Rob, what makes 
you so silent ? " 

" I don't know, father, whether I 'm asleep and 
dreaming, or not, but it seems to me every moment 
as if I heard Cosette mewing. Now just keep still 



a moment, all of you, and listen. There ! did you 
hear ? You have n't got a cat on board the 
' Claribel' in the cuddy, have you, Jerry?" 

"Why, no," replied Jerry, "but I 've been 
thinking I heard something queer myself." 

" Father ! " suddenly cried Rob, " what 's that 
black speck on the water down there ? " He 
pointed to leeward. At the same time a faint 
sound, sharp enough to pierce the soft breeze that 
blew against it, reached their ears. 

" If 't was daytime I should say 't was the gulls 
cryin'," said Jerry, " but they don't fly nights." 

" Is that a dory anchored, with somebody fish- 
ing ? " asked Mr. Lambert. 

"No, sir; whatever 't is, it 's movin'. Shall 
we sheer off a little and run down and see what 
't is?" 

" Do," said Mr. Lambert. As the " Claribel" 
turned on her course, again the sharp cry came, 
this time quite clearly to their ears. 

" Somebody's got a cat somewhere, now that 's 
sartin ! " said Jerry. They all looked and listened 
eagerly, fixing their eyes on the dim black speck. 
The boat with a free wind sailed faster ; soon they 
were near enough to distinguish the outline of a 
small body sitting up on the broad seat in the 
stern of a dory. 

"'T ain't big enough for a human critter," said 
Jerry. " Sure 's you 're born, it 's a cat in a dory ! 
How upon earth did it get there ? " 

" I do believe it is Cosette ! " cried Rob. 

Again the moonlight broke through the rifted 
cloud, showing them plainly Cosette sitting up- 
right ; her long, anxious, distressed mews were 
pitiful to hear. 

"Upon my word, it is Cosette ! " said Mr. Lam- 

" And that 's my dory," said Jerry, as he ran 
the sail-boat past the skiff, then, luffing to bring 
her alongside, caught her by the gunwale, as they 
reached her, and held her fast. Cosette stood up, 
and with a flying leap landed in the midst of the 
astonished group. 

"What 's that white thing in the bow?" cried 
Elinor. " Fa/>a / .' " she screamed, for the white 
thing began to move, and a little voice said : 

" I 'm bery cold, Papa " 

" Merciful Heaven ! " cried Mr. Lambert 
" ilfa.r / Max, is it you ? " as lie snatched him out 
of the dory and clasped him close in his arms. 

" with only your night-dress on! all alone ! Oh, 
Max ! how did you get there ! " 

Elinor sprang with a large shawl she had 
brought, and wrapped it closely round him; — she 
could not speak, but put her arms round her father 
and little brother and leaned her head down on 
Max's curly pate. 

"My little boy! My dear little boy!" Mr. 
Lambert said, over and over, and he gathered him 
closer and held him fast, as if he never could let 
him go again. 

"Oh, Max ! " cried Elinor at last, seeking for 
his bare, cold feet under the shawl and cherishing 
them in her warm hands, " how di^/ you get there ? " 

" We did n't reach to Noah," Max said in his 
sweet voice. "We went to find the ' Cat's-Cra- 
dle,' — Cosette and I, — and Noah and all the 
boats, and we could n't see them and I was cold, 
and Cosette cried, and I wanted Mamma and we 
could n't find anything, and I want my Noah," 
the little story ended in a sob. 

" Oh, you poor little darling," cried Rose. 

" If it had not been for Cosette we never should 
have known anything about it," said Rob. 

" 1 wonder if they have missed him at home," 
said Elinor. " Poor Mamma ! Oh, Papa, I wish 
we could sail faster ! " 

It seemed a long time before the boat neared 
the landing so they could disembark. Some time 
before they reached it they saw dark figures up and 
down the beach, and guessed that the poor mother 
was wildly searching for her boy. They shouted 
as soon as they could make themselves heard : 
" He 's here ! He 's safe ! " and when the blessed 
sound reached her ears, poor Mrs. Lambert fell on 
the sand, perfectly overpowered, thanking Heaven 
silently with all her soul. 

It was not long before she had her treasure in 
her happy arms, clinging about her neck, while 
the other children clustered eagerly round Father 
and Mother, talking, laughing, crying, wonder- 
ing and rejoicing, all at once, as they trooped into 
the house together. 

"Cosette!" they cried, after Max had been 
safely tucked up in his little bed once more and 
that little bed moved into Mamma's room, close 
at her side, — "Oh, Cosette! if it had not been 
for you, we never, never, never should have found 
our dear Max again ! Oh, Cosette, you are the 
best and dearest kitty in the world ! " 

There was a merchant — so the tale is told — 

Who dwelt in Sicily, in a seaport town ; 
And he had store of silver and of gold, 
Of gems and ivory, and of spices brown. 
No king, indeed, who ever wore the crown 
And held the scepter over Sicily 
Had greater wealth or costlier house than he. 

This merchant had one child, a' daughter fair — 

No golden coin of all his treasury 
Gleamed bright as Caterina's golden hair ; 
No ivory column of his house might be 
More white and straight and slender than was she ; 
Well-skilled she was in every household art, 
Modest and brave, and of a pious heart. 

One night, as Caterina sat alone. 

The silver lamp burned suddenly more bright 
And at her side there stood a shining one, 
A woman, tall and garmented in white; 
And Caterina started in affright. 
Fear me not," said the stranger, " 1 am late. 
But I am come at last — Ijehold your Fate !" 

(For in those ancient times it was believed 

That every newborn soul which came to earth 
Had its own Fate, and from her hands received 
Alternate good and evil from its birth ; 
And with the ceaseless turning of the girth 
Of Fate's most variable and inconstant wheel. 
Mortals were given their part of woe and weal.) 




With gentle act did Caterina rise ; 

The immortal woman did her wheel arrest, 
And looking on the maid with serious eyes, 

Said to her, " Tell me now which thing were 
best : 

In youth to suffer, and in age have rest ; 
Or, first have joy, then sorrow. What shall be 
For youth and what for age? — the choice is free." 

"Hardly," said Caterina, "can I tell, 

Since grief at any time is hard to bear. 
Yet surely, as I think of it, 't were well 

In my late years to take of good my share 
And end my life not laden down with care. 
Yea, in my youth the will of Heaven be done." 
" A wiser choice than this," said Fate, " were none." 

And soon — to make the olden tale more brief — 
To the rich merchant sorry things befell: 

The pirates burned the ships that bore the chief 
Of all his ventures ; he was forced to sell 
His goods, estate, the house where he did dwell; 

And wounded in his heart and in his pride. 

He turned his face against the wall, and died. 


So all alone was Caterina left ; 

An orphan, penniless and without a home ; 
And since her hands to sew and spin were deft 

She would take service, howso wearisome. 
And forth she went. At last she saw, being come 
Before the houses of a distant town, 
A woman from a window looking down. 

Poor Caterina felt her heart more bold 

Because this woman had a kindly face ; 
And, while the tears from her sad eyelids rolled, 
She pleaded thus : " I pray you, of your grace, 
In your great house give me a little place. 
To be your handmaiden and sew and spin." 
The dame had pity of her, and took her in. 

One day, the mistress left alone her maid 

To keep the house ; and broidering leaf and 

Upon fine linen, Caterina stayed 
Content and busy in her little room. 
When on the sunlight fell a sudden gloom 
As when a cloud arises full of rain — 
And Caterina's Fate appeared again ! 

With furious hands she threw the basket down 
Of colored threads, and tossed them here and 

And from a carven chest she took the gown 
Of crimson silk the dame was wont to wear 
On feast-days, and with all her force did tear 
It into rags ; nor did she spare to spoil 
The linen wrought by Caterina's toil. 

Then, as the Fate stood still at 
last, amid 
The ruin that her envious 
hands had made, 
"^h;^^''^^ Poor Caterina fled the house, and 
^ '^1, hid 

Among the brambles in a 

field, — afraid 
Of heavy blame that might on 
, her be laid. 

Later she rose, and wandered 

sadly down 
The road that led her to an- 
other town. 

The maiden gone, at once, with- 
out delay 
The Fate began her ravage to 
set right. 
The silken gown, made whole, was 
laid away. 
The broidery appeared untorn 

and bright. 
And when the mistress home- 
ward came at night, 
All was in order set, and to her 
mind — 

But Caterina never could she find. 




The maid again took service ; and again 
Came Fate to seek her, tearing as before 

Her well- wrought linen web. Seven years in vain, 
Driven by her Fate forth from each friendly door. 
She wandered to new cities ; and once more 

Became the handmaid of a noble dame. 

And day with day her duty was the same. 

Once, when her daily task was done, at night 
She wandered, lonely, up a mountain way, 
And in a cavern saw a flickering 

Within the hollow of the 

rock there lay 
Her Fate asleep, with 

tangled hair astray 
That veiled on either 

side her face, 
and hid 
The dream-spun 
damask of her 

Beneath her coverlid the drowsy Fate 
Stirred languidly, while Caterina spoke 

In piteous words her painful case to state 
And tell how grief her patient spirit broke. 
At last from dreams forgetful. Fate awoke : 
" Preserve my gift and it shall bring thee gain," 

She said, and gave the maid a silken skein. 

Then down the hill did Caterina go. 

Yet was the heart within her nowise glad ; 

And when to her good mistress she 
would show 
The gift that from relenting Fate she 
had : 

" To pay three grani surely one were 

For such a little weightless skein of 
thread ; 

Yet will I keep it with all care," 
she said. 


Then Caterina — 
by her grief 
made bold, 
Weary with service 

and with misery ) ' 

And weeping for her happy k 
time of old ^ 
When she was like a princess — mournfully 
Pleaded : "My cruel Fate, have mercyonme. 
Grieve me no longer, be at last my friend 
And bring my heavy sorrow to an end ! " 

Blow all the trumpets, beat the 
cymbals loud, 
Strew roses, roses, every- 
where around ! 
Cry, heralds, and proclaim to 
all the crowd 
To-day the Heir of Sicily shall 

be crowned ! 
But now a message comes, 
with sadder sound : 
He can not place the crown upon 

his head. 
Without his robe, unsewn for 
lack of thread. 




Then Caterina's mistress to her said : 
" Is not thy skein of silk the very hue 
Required to sew the royal robe, my maid ? " 
And Caterina, taking heart anew, 
Carried her skein of silk, as sapphire blue, 
To prove it with the garment of the king — 
And silken thread and cloth seemed one same 
thing ! 

The prince commanded then the treasurer 

To bring the scales and weigh the weight in gold 
Of Caterina's skein, and give it her. 

Vol. XV.— 38. 

One golden coin and then one more was told — 
The silk was heavier. Streams of money rolled 
From wide-mouthed sacks ; and in the scale was laid 
All Sicily's treasure. Still the silk outweighed. 

Then all his gems the prince, much marveling, 
Offered ; his wealth of ruby, emerald, pearl ; 

He bade the treasurer, most reluctant, bring 
Diamonds, and opals with strange fires that curl, 
And weigh them for the payment of the girl. 

Still were they all too light. At last the crown 

Was added to them — and the scale went down ! 



Then cried the knights and ladies: Lo, behold 
That this poor maid shall be a Queen, the sign ! 

For not the weight of all the royal gold 

And jewels could, without the crown, combine 
To balance her small skein!" "She shall be 

Mine own dear Queen ! " the Heir of Sicily cried. 
And Caterina was the royal bride. 

Sound ye the trumpets, beat the cymbals loud, 
Strew roses, roses, everywhere around ! 

Cry, heralds, and proclaim to all the crowd 
The King of Sicily a fair bride has found ! 

Lay cloth of gold upon the very ground 
That they may walk thereon in royal state — 
Praise to Queen Caterina and her Fate ! 


By Emilie Poulsson. 

When little Teddy heard a merry bobolink, 

He said, " Mamma, that bird is laughing, I should think." 

Still rang the wondrous song. 
So varied, clear and strong. 

Out in the sunny weather; 
And listening Teddy cried, 
" Why ! I should think he tied 

A lot of songs together ! " 


By Gertrude Van R. Wickham. 


In the summer of 1880, when the first delegation 
of enthusiastic politicians came trooping up from 
the Mentor station through the lane that led to 
•'Lawnfield," in order to congratulate General 
James A. Garfield on his nomination for the Presi- 
dency, there was one member of the Garfield house- 
hold who met the well-meaning but noisy strangers 
with an air of astonishment and disapproval, and, 
as they neared the house, disputed further approach 
with menacing voice. 

This was " Veto," General Garfield's big New - 
foundland dog ; and not until his master had called 
to him that it was " all right," and that he must 
be quiet, did he cease hostile demonstrations. 

After that, whenever delegations came — and 
they were of daily occurrence — Veto walked around 
among the visitors, looking grave and sometimes 
uneasy, but usually peaceful. General Garfield 
was very fond of large, noble-looking dogs. Veto 
was a puppy when given to him, but in two years' 
time had grown to be an immense fellow, and 
devotedly attached to his iriaster. He was named 
in honor of President Hayes's veto of a certain bill 
in the spring of 1879. 

The bill was one for abolishing the office of 
marshal at elections. It did not meet with the 
President's approval, and he returned it to Con- 
gress unsigned, — an action which greatly pleased 
General Garfield, and suggested the name for his 

Although quiet, as he had been bidden. Veto 
was never reconciled to the public's invasion of the 
Mentor farm. He was a dog of great dignity, and 
could not but feel resentment at the fiimiliarity of 
the strangers who, on thestrengtli of their political 
prominence, overran his master's fields, spoiled 
the fruit-trees, peered into the barns and poultry 
yard, and were altogether over-curious and intru- 
sive. He had been told that it was " all right " ; 
but these actions by day, and the torchlights and 
hurrahing by night, wore on his spirits and tem- 
per. This evident unfitness for public life caused 
a final separation from his beloved master; for 
when, in the following spring, the family moved 
to Washington to begin residence at the White 
House, they thought it was not best to take Veto 
with them, so he was left behind in Mentor. 

Poor fellow ! all his doubts and fears for the 
safety and peace of him he loved and guarded 
were indeed well-founded. That first invasion of 
Lawnfield was but the beginning of what was to 
end in great calamity and bitter sorrow. Veto 
never saw his master again. 

After the death of General Garfield, Veto was 
taken to Cleveland, O., where he spent his re- 
maining days in the family of J. H. Hardy — a 
gentleman well known in that city. 

Several anecdotes are related by Mr. Hardy 
which prove the dog's great intelligence. He 
slept in the barn, and seemed to consider him- 
self responsible for the proper behavior of the 
horses, and the safety of everything about the 




barn. No one not belonging to the family was 
allowed even to touch any article in it. Veto's 
low thunder of remonstrance or dissent quickly 
brought the curious or meddlesome to terms. 

One night he barked loudly and incessantly. 
Then, as this alarm signal passed unnoticed, he 


howled until Mr. Hardy was forced to dress and go 
to the barn, where he found a valuable horse loose 
and on a rampage. Veto had succeeded in seizing 
the halter, and there he stood with the end in 
his mouth, while the horse, disappointed of his 
frolic and his expectation of unlimited oats, was 
vainly jerking and plunging to get away. 

Another time, upon returning late at niglit from 
a county fair, the family heard Veto — who was 

shut up in the barn — howling and scratching 
frantically at the door. When it was opened, he 
rushed directly to another barn some rods away, 
belonging to and very near a house occupied by 
a large family, who all were in bed and asleep. 
He scratched at the door of this barn, keeping up 
at the same time his dismal howl, 
and paying no attention to the 
repeated calls and commands to 
■ ..■ " comeback and behave " himself. 

Just as force was to be used to 
quiet him, a bright tongue of flame 
shot up through the roof of the 
barn, and, almost in an instant, 
the whole structure was in a blaze. 
Before the fire department reached 
the spot the barn was consumed, 
and the house was saved from 
destruction only through heroic 
efforts of the neighbors. 

And so Veto's quick scent and 
I I,.,,. , wonderful sagacity in, as we must 
j* , believe, giving the alarm, not only 

saved the house, but probably 
averted serious loss of life. 


" Spec" was a little terrier born 
at Fort Hamilton, New York. 
One day, while he was yet a puppy, 
an army officer with two little 
boys came to the kennel to choose 
a dog for themselves. They picked 
out Spec from a litter of puppies, 
as the brightest and prettiest, and 
bore him off in great glee to head- 
quarters. The army officer was the 
late General Robert E. Lee, of 

Not long after, the General was 
ordered to Mexico ; and Mrs. Lee 
and the children went to Arlington 
• ■■ ■ to remain during his absence. 

Spec went with them. While 
General Lee was away, the little 
dog showed no signs of missing 
him, but when, after the long absence, he unex- 
pectedly returned home. Spec happened to be the 
first of the household to greet him. The little fellow 
seemed crazy with delight. He jumped up, licked 
his master's hands, and sprang around in so excited 
a manner that notwithstanding the great joy of the 
family he attracted the attention of all. 

One of the General's little sons, now General W. 
H. F. Lee, of Ravensworth, Virginia, writes : "I 




have often heard my father say that he beheved 
the dog thoroughly recognized him, and was over- 
joyed at his return." 

Several years passed, and General Lee was or- 
dered to West Point. Meanwhile Spec had grown 
old, and was failing in mind as in body; else he 
never would have strayed on board one of the New 
Yorkexcursion boats that touch daily at West Point, 
and allowed himself to be carried away to some 
place from which he could not return. He was 
never heard of afterward. 

The whole family, most of whom had been his 
playmates, long mourned for him, but none more 
sincerely than his master. 


"Tycho Brahe" was his full name, and he was 
a bull-terrier living in the village of Vevay. Indiana. 
He was given to Edward Eggleston when that 
author was only six years old ; and there never ex- 
isted a more peaceable, good-natured, aflectionate 
dog, except when duty was involved ; then he was 
as stern and brave as a Roman sentinel. 

Mr. Eggleston's father kept many horses and 
dogs, and had a very classical taste in naming them 
all ; so such appellations as " Hector," " Messana," 
and " Caesar " became household words. 

Edward was allowed to choose between " Tal- 
leyrand" and " Tycho" as a name for his puppy, 
and selected the latter because the first one, to 
his childish imagination, sounded too much like 
"tallow," and suggested candles. 

Tycho early showed extraordinary sagacity, 
and, as befitted a dog bearing the name of a great 
astronomer, clearly understood the difference be- 
tween day and night. He was never known to 
express any opposition to the coming of a visitor 
in the daytime, but when once darkness set in no 
stranger could enter the door-yard. He did not 
bite, he only stood still and growled ; and no one 
was ever known to disregard that warning ; but 
when the person at the gate called the name of 
any one of the family, or was recognized by the 
dog, no further opposition was made. 

Once he was left alone for two days in charge 
of the house, and for forty-eight hours stood guard 
on the doorstep, which he never left except when 
called by a neighbor to be fed. 

Mr. Eggleston says: " I have had other dog- 
friends, but Tycho was the noblest, and 1 shall 
always remember him with affection." And yet 
he lost his life by an act of folly. A vagabond 
dog went through the street one day, and the 
more respectable of the canine family pitched into 
him for bringing the race into discredit — or for 
violating some other rule of dog propriety. 

Tycho rushed in with the rest. A week or two 
later, the poor fellow moped ; then he gnawed the 
bark of a peach-tree, snapped at those who spoke 
to him, and showed other signs of being rabid. 
He died, as such dogs do, by means of a neigh- 
bor's gun, and all the family wept bitterly for the 
dear old fellow, who had been their companion 
for eight years, and made strong resolutions never 
again to set their hearts on a dog. 


Our beloved Quaker poet was a farmer's son, 
and therefore was brought up among dogs and 
horses and cattle, and became fond of them all. 

He is rich in dogs. At Oak Knoll, where he 
spends his summers, he has three: Roger, Robin, 
and Dick. As he could be none other than a 
kind, gentle master, we can readily imagine how 
these three dogs adore him ; and how, when he 
returns to Oak Knoll in the spring, they greet him 
with frantic barks and yelps of delight, with rap- 
turous waggings and thumpings of tails. 

Roger guards the barns ; Dick is a Scotch ter- 
rier ; and Robin is a shepherd-dog. The latter 
two are the more favored because, being house- 
dogs, they have opportunities for intimacy with 
the poet not possible to Roger. They can more 
frequently watch their master's face for signs of 
loving recognition, can insinuate a nose between 
his book and eyes, or with ever-ready tongue 
take a dog's loving liberty with his hand. But we 
presume there are no jealousies on that account, 
nor heart-burnings, and that all are good friends, 
leading lives of gentle dignity befitting the dogs 
of John G. Whittier, the poet of peace. 


" Peter Trone, Esq.," was a little black-and- 
tan terrier living in Cleveland, Ohio, whose deeds 
and qualities often have been chanted in unpub- 
lished prose and verse by his gifted mistress, Con- 
tance Fenimore Woolson. 

Peter Trone, Esq., had many accomplishments 
and many cultivated tastes. He was fond of grapes 
and knew the proper time to eat them. After din- 
ner he would help himself to dessert, probably 
thinking that he had been forgotten. His mistress 
often watched him while he did this. He would 
trot slowly down the path that led by the trellis, 
selecting and biting off, as he passed, a particularly 
fine grape. 

He could fish ! Once, in the country, when Miss 
Woolson's young brother had unexpectedly cau<jht 
a large fish over a dam, and was puzzled to know 
how he should draw the fish up with a slender line, 




Peter Trone, Esq., in great excitement, plunged 
into the water below the dam, caught the fish in 
his mouth and brought it to the boy. 

He could carry a note tied to his collar to a dis- 
tant place, take it to the person for whom it was 
intended, wait for the answer, and bring it safely 

proper to the occasion was furnished before the 
services began. 

At the appointed hour, the Woolson children and 
their cousins walked in procession to the grave, 
which was made in the garden. Old Turk was 
lowered into his last resting-place, his yellow paws 

'robin," a shepherd-dog belonging to the I'OET, whittier.* 

back. He needed but little training in order to do 
anything within a dog's possibilities, and Miss 
Woolson never discovered the limits of his wonder- 
ful intelligence. 

Pete Trone, Esq., could walk a long distance on 
his little hind legs. The Woolson children made 
him a pair of scarlet trousers, a little scarlet coat, 
and a scarlet cap and feather. It was a funny sight 
to see him marching on his hind legs down Euclid 
Avenue arrayed in these garments. He was very 
proud of them. 

The family had two other dogs, — who were, of 
course, Pete's most intimate friends, — " Old Turk" 
and little "Grip." Turk was a magnificent old fel- 
low, and well known in Cleveland. He lived a 
long life, and when it was ended, the children 
held a funeral over him. 

All the dogs in the neighborhood were formally 
invited, by card. They began to arrive early in the 
morning, and were tied to different trees in the 
yard ; and so most of the howling and mourning 

folded, his breast covered with flowers, and his 
requiem, composed by Miss Woolson, sung to the 
tune of " Old Dog Tray." All the dogs were then 
brought up to take a last look at the old patriarch. 
Pete Trone, Esq., was chief mourner. 





This charming writer for St. Nicholas is an 
enthusiastic lover of dogs. She hAs had in the 
course of her life several canine pets, all — as nat- 
urally would be expected of anything belonging to 
the author of" Little Lord Fauntlercy " — very in- 
teresting animals. Each is declared to have been 
thoroughly original in his manner and ways, and 
quite unlike the others ; and all have been conspic- 
uous figures in her personal history. 

The first great sorrow of her childhood, amount- 
ing in her eyes to an awful tragedy, was occasioned 
by love of a dog. Some one gave her a New- 

' In a note Mr. Whittier says, the dog, as shown in this picture, happens to be *' lying at the foot of the largest 
Norway spruce in New England." — Ed. St. Nicholas. 

1888 ] 



foundland puppy, named Rollo, — a black ball of 
curls which tumbled over its own legs and was 
the "idol of her soul." Only ten days after he 
came to her, and while she was wild with the first 
rapture of possession, a covetous boy, who had 
vainly tried to beg or buy the puppy, sent a servant 
to borrow him to show some one, and never re- 
turned him. How he managed to evade all demand 
or inquiry, she never understood. It was all a dark 
mystery ; but she mourned so passionately and 
persistently over her lost dog that her mother be- 
came alarmed about her, and hastened to secure 
another one to take his place in her affections. 
This was an exquisite little Italian greyhound 
named Florence, who remained her friend and 
companion for years. 

When Mrs. Burnett was a child her family lived 
in Tennessee. There they had — as she expressed 
it — "colonies of dogs," many of them disreputable 
ones, that came and asked to stay, or stayed with- 
out asking — any way to insinuate themselves into 
the household. One of these was dubbed " Pepper," 
because of his touchy, contradictory disposition, 
which led to habits and ways that were sources of 
great amusement to the children. He followed 
Mrs. Burnett's brother home one day, and inti- 
mated that he had come to remain. He pretended 
to be a dog who was highly strung and sensitive, 
and that these traits had not been appreciated where 
he came from, but the children soon discovered 
that his sensitiveness was but temper. 

The moment he was reproved for improper con- 
duct, he went out of the front door and 
trotted home to the other family, who lived 
about four miles away. The children 
would stand on the piazza to watch him 
till he was out of sight. He had a long 
hill to trot over, and the intolerant scorn 
expressed by his tail and little hind legs, 
as he jogged along, never deigning to cast 
a glance behind, showed in the most 
scathing manner that, in his opinion, the 
family he had turned his back upon were 
people of no refinement of sentiment what- 
ever, and could not be expected to under- 
stand the feelings of a dog of real delicacy. 
He always went away when lectured; and 
probably came back whenever the other 
family did not approve of his actions, 
because he kept running away and coming 
back for a year or two ; finally, however, decid- 
ing that the children were worthiest of his con- 
tinued patronage. But their principal dog at that 
time — their staple dog — was "Mr. K.," a big, 
yellow canine who, when found, was living a wild 
life in the woods, not far from the house. He had 
been a dog of bad reputation, evidently undeserved, 

for after Mrs. Burnett's sister Edith had beguiled 
him to go home with her, he at once settled down 
and became a reformed domestic character who 
adored every member of the family. 

But there was one flaw in his otherwise perfect 
demeanor, — he would fight. As soon as he saw 
another dog, particularly if it was large, he arose 
with a mild and forbearing expression, apparently 
without any prejudice or bitterness of feeling, and 
went out and tried to obliterate that dog from the 
face of the earth. He then would return covered 
with wounds and glory, wearing an apologetic, 
even remorseful air, especially when Edith scolded 
him well, pointing out the folly of such behavior 
and what a disgrace he was to the family. At 
such times he would thump his tail unceasingly 
on the floor and look from under his eyelids, 
greatly embarrassed ; but he always attended to 
the next dog as impartially as though he never 
had been remonstrated with in his life. If none 
came to the house he would sally forth to seek 
them, and this conduct finally brought disaster 
upon him. 

The house stood on a hill. At the foot of it lived 
a "colored" dog, named Tige, owned by some 
negroes. The children could not decide whether 
or not it was a matter of race prejudice, but there 
was a feud existing between Tige and "Mr. K." 
Whenever they met, which was two or three times 
a week, they fought — and Tige always was beaten. 
Finally, this so exasperated him, that he held a 
consultation with his friends. The children were 


convinced that he did so, because several times 
they saw dogs talking together in twos and threes, 
and wondered what the discussion was about. 
The result was that these dogs attacked " Mr. K." 
in a body, and left him for dead in a pool of water ; 
but he crawled home, scarcely alive, and covered 
w ith mud and gore. 


The children nursed him all the following 
winter ; for rheumatism set in, and he had to be 
kept in a corner of the kitchen wrapped in a blanket 
and covered with hot stove-plates, which Edith 
considered good for his complaint. And when any 
one said, sympathetically, " Poor Mr. K. ! " an 
innate sense of politeness led him to acknowledge 
the attention by trying to rise and wag his tail, 
whereupon all the stove-plates would roll off and 
clatter on the floor. 

Poor fellow ! The fighting mania that was so 
implanted in his constitution proved his destruc- 
tion. One day he rushed out to attack a howling 
dog that was running past the house, and when he 
returned was so bitten that he had to be killed, 
and the children all cried themselves ill. 

In later years, Mrs. Burnett has had at different 
times three other dogs. The first was a Chihuahua 
puppy, sent to her from Mexico ; and when he ar- 
rived he weighed only a pound and three-quarters. 
But she was away from home at the time, and he 
took advantage of her absence to grow. He was 
always very much ashamed of it afterwards, and 
when she returned, and he saw how disappointed 
she was at his size, it seemed to depress him and 
make him anxious to hide in corners. His remorse 
was so evident that Mrs. Burnett tried to encourage 
him by pretending that she did not care so very 
much, and that, for all she cared, he might have 
been even larger. But he was never happy, and 
so she gave him to a little girl who had never ex- 
pected him to be smaller. 

The gentleman who had presented him to Mrs. 
Burnett was very much disgusted with him. He 
felt that the dog had betrayed his confidence, and 
to make up for this duplicity, and to console Mrs. 
Burnett, he sent her a beautiful Japanese pug 
named "Toto," with fluffy, silken, black and white 
hair, a tail like a curled feather, the shortest, pug- 
giest black nose, and the largest, rounded eyes 
imaginable. He kept his pink tongue always 


thrust out of the right side of his mouth with a 
most derisive air, and he was lovely ! — but he had 
no soul. He loved nobody, and cared for nothing 
but his scarlet and yellow satin bows, his dinner, 
and his cushion. He died at a hospital, where 
he had been sent to be treated when taken ill. 

Mrs. Burnett's present dog is an English pug, 
upon whose collar is engraved, '"Monsieur le 

He came to her as a puppy, and she has had him 
for years. He began life with a nature too frank 
and ingenuous, and Mrs. Burnett has seen him de- 
velop from a confiding puppy of impulse into a pug 
of the world. They are great friends and confide in 
each other freely, but the dog mingles in society 
more than he did in the first flush of their affection. 
Mrs. Burnett has been very ill ; consequently they 
have been separated, and he has had to entertain 
himself with the world. He is a very interesting 
little animal, and his pretty ways and intelligent 
tricks would fill a volume. 

While Mrs. Burnett was convalescing in Nahant 
last summer, she wrote : 

" Just now I am greatly interested in a small, 
shaggy, yellow dog which, about once a day — 
usually in the evening — trots with serious mien 
through the grounds. He comes in the gateway 
at one end of the avenue, and goes out at the other. 
He looks neither to right nor left, and utterly 
ignores all blandishments, however seductive. He 
seems absorbed in deep reflection, and to have 
some business project in view. As I am a visitor 
only, I don't know him. I don't know where he 
comes from or where he goes. I cannot decide 
whether he is an unsocial dog, or a proud dog, or 
a reserved dog, or simply a busy dog, with care 
and responsibilities. Sometimes I imagine that 
he goes to meet a friend who is indisposed, or 
that he has been expecting a letter of impor- 
tance, and calls regularly at the post-office for the 

j\'V\^x{(AH • Docks' • (OLILO^Uy- 

5aid a poop little do^ Without aipy baip, 
"It seen^s to n?e to be Vepy uptaip 
Jbat /should be such odd conceit, 
V/bile n?y tpiei^d is coCeped fpon? eaps to feet." 


By Ruth Hays. 

}AMMY, what 's 'Mor- 
ial Day for ? " 

Mammy stood in 
the cabin doorway 
with arms akimbo, 
the sunset hght shining 
on her broad, kindly face, 
and hghting up the gay 
handkerchief she wore 
about her head. She took 
the short pipe from her 
mouth as she good-na- 
turedly answered the boy : 
" Laws, honey ! ain't 
1 you 'member dat yet ? I 
done tole you more 'n forty 
times, fo' sure. 'Bout de 
men who died, don't you 
know ? Dat 's what it means." 
Joe did n't appear to be much 
ightened. " De men who 
died? " he repeated questioningly, look- 
ing up with those bright eyes of his. 

He was the blackest little specimen that ever 
was. The ace of spades was nothing to him — 
"Charcoal would make a white mark on him." 
But the white teeth gleamed, and the big eyes 
shone, and the woolly hair knotted itself into the 
funniest little fuzz you ever did see. As for his 
costume, it was n't much to boast of; nothing but 
rags, and not too many of them. But Joe did n't 
care, — not he ! He was as free as the birds, and 
lived as careless and irresponsible a life. When 
the sun shone, and all was bright, he rejoiced as 
they did; when it was cold and dismal, he crept 
into his own little nest of a cabin, rolled himself 
up in all the rags he could gather, curled into a 
small heap, as close to the fire as he could get, 
and waited for fair weather. 

He had two treasures : Jack, a thin, gaunt, yel- 
low cur (1 really can't call him anything else), 
and Billy, an old goat once white, but not at all 
particular about his present appearance, and with 
the beard of a patriarch. Belonging with Billy was 
a cart made of an old box perched between two 
wheels much too high for it, and with a board 
nailed across, on which Joe would sit as proudly 
as any dandy young Englishman in his dog-cart. 

This wagon was usually perilously loaded with 
•'light-wood," picked up here and there; ahd to 
see Joe driving over the rough, uneven sidewalks, 
now on the planks, now off ; now with a wheel 
caught in a crack, now tilting over so far that one 
wondered the whole rickety concern did n't go to 
destruction altogether, — really, it was an exciting 
experience. Jack was usually in close attendance, 
trotting as close behind the cart as the sharp ends 
of the light-wood, stuck in all sorts of ways, would 
permit. In this rig Joe would drive along certain 
streets which he considered his special property, 
and try to sell his cargo. Sometimes he got five 
or ten cents ; sometimes, if nobody happened to 
want any light-wood, he still got something to eat. 
In one place there was a lady from "up north." 
She always gave him doughnuts, but she wanted 
him to learn to read and spell, and Joe suspected 
her of designs to enforce this desire. So he usually 
steered clear of her, preferring corn-bread and 

Mammy took in washing, when she could get it, 
carrying the full basket poised on her head as she 
went and came. She went out scrubbing and 
cleaning, too, whenever her services were called 
for. They earned little, but they wanted little. It 
was a miserable, shiftless way of living, but then 
it was the best they knew, and as long as they 
were neither cold nor hungry, they were perfectly 
content, and found life good, as the birds and 
squirrels do. 

The cabin was a small log affair with bare 
ground all about it — not very tidy, certainly. 
The wooden shutter was thrown back, and the 
sunshine streamed pleasantly in at the window, 
which boasted neither sash nor glass. The open 
door sagged a good deal, and the whole place had 
that unmistakable f^rtrZy look about it, everywhere. 
A few hens and some half-grown chickens roamed 
about, and a little black pig followed his own sweet 
will hither and yon, not disdaining the shelter of 
the cabin when it pleased him. And, indeed, why 
should he ? He was one of the family, and Joe, 
at least, always gave him cordial welcome. He 
was n't quite so sure of Mammy's. 

It was seldom that Joe troubled himself or 
Mammy with questions of any kind ; hut to-day 
he had happened to hear two women tnlking of 




Memorial Day, and something about the procession 
and flowers. Now, if there was anything Joe 
loved, it was a procession — and who did n't ? 
Why, there was n't a darky for miles around that 
did n't turn out to see every one that marched. A 
circus was a wild delight. Joe had only seen one 
procession of that kind, and it had remained a joy 
forever. But he was n't critical ; a wedding or a 
funeral, so there was a procession, was a joy to 
him. Of course he had seen several Memorial 
Da)^, but he took little note of time, and some- 
how it had never occurred to him before that they 
recurred regularly like Christmas, — the one great 
holiday. And now he wanted to know what for. So 
Mammy told once more, and very graphic she made 
the story. Unfortunately, she had had a very 
harsh master, in slavery days, and she drew so 
vivid a picture of how Joe would have had to " stan' 
roun' if ole marse had got hold " of him, that 
the boy looked apprehensively about for that 
dread personage, and was much relieved to know 
that he was dead. " Killed in de war, honey, like 
all de rest." And then she told of the com- 
ing of the Northern army — "Marse Linkum's 
men "— and of the brave soldiers — some of them 
mere boys who laid down their lives there, " the 
men who died," and who slept peacefully enough 
under the pines, with all discord over at last. 
And Joe, as she told of the day set apart to keep 
their memory green, resolved that he, too, would 
march in the procession to-morrow and carry 
flowers for " the men who died." 

He did n't say anything to Mammy of that, 
though, for he knew she would object. "Laws, 
honey ! " she would say, " you ain't got no legs fo' 
dat"; and, indeed, poor Joe's crippled limbs and 
limping gait were poorly fitted for processions, 
however willing his stout heart might be. No, he 
would n't say a word ; but he 'd get up early to- 
morrow, and go for flowers, — there were gay 
pink and yellow ones in the swamp, way up the 
Branch — a long way for him to hobble, but he 
knew of none nearer. Then he 'd get back in time 
to join the procession, and would carry his posy 
with the biggest of them. Mammy 'd be proud 
enough when she saw him there. 

So he and Jack were astir betimes, and soon 
toiling along the dusty road. It was a bright, 
warm morning, and Joe sang like a little black- 
bird as he limped along ; past the log cabins like 
his own, where swarms of children were already 
about, and dogs of all sizes came yelping out, and 
gave them noisy welcome ; past the broad fields 
where lately the kale and spinach had been cut, 
where the level country stretched away on either 
hand, unbroken by wall or fence, the boundary 
lines being ditches or low hedges, till he turned 

off to follow the Branch, only a narrow creek, 
up into the swamp lands where the flowers grew. 
Oh, what a wealth of them, as if on purpose for 
Joe ! — all he had hoped and more. He picked and 
picked, meantime looking warily about for moc- 
casons. His posy would be the biggest and gayest 
of them all, he said to himself, as at last he tied 
his flowers into a great, straggling bunch with a 
strip torn from his rags. Rags are very convenient, 
sometimes. He was tired now, and the sun was 
hot, but there was no time to lose ; so, trying care- 
fully to shield his precious posies with his torn hat, 
he shuffled along, bare-headed, the weary way 

Jack had been rushing about everywhere ; back 
and forth, here, there, and yonder, now diving 
under the bushes, now jumping the creek; but he, 
too, was tired now and followed close behind 
Joe, panting very dejectedly, paying no heed to 
anything about him — as if he were a mournful 
procession on his own account ; and so, at last, 
they reached home. 

The old goat slumbered in the doorway, and 
the little black pig scurried away with shrill squeals, 
as Jack, roused again, made a dash for him. But 
Jack was only in fun, and piggy knew that very 
well. He was squealing only to carry out his part 
of the performance. 

Mammy had gone out, too well accustomed to 
Joe's vagabond roamings to wonder where he was. 
There was corn-bread on the shelf, and potatoes, 
too ; and Joe and Jack ate their breakfast together 
as soon as the flowers had been put in water. Joe 
hid them behind the cabin. He wanted to sur- 
prise Mammy. She did n't know he was big 
enough to march in the procession with the rest. 

Later in the day the dreary little procession was 
moving slowly along the narrow, dusty streets of 
the straggling Southern town, toward the road lead- 
ing to the cemetery where "the men who died" 
had their humble graves. It was a meager little 
procession, indeed. A drum and fife furnished 
the music ; there were a few white men who led, 
and then a straggling line of colored people, men 
and women, too, each carrying a little bunch of 
flowers ; and behind them all hobbled little Joe. 
Even their slow pace was too fast for him, weary 
and foot-sore as he was ; but he struggled bravely 
to keep up, and held his head high, and carried his 
big posy proudly, — the biggest of all, as he had 
thought it would be. But no ; Joe was n't quite 
the last one — Jack was last, close behind Joe, and 
much impressed with the dignity of the occasion. 

Ah ! how shall I tell the rest ? The little pro- 
cession had just passed a narrow cross-street, and 
there, hidden by the buildings on either side, a 
carriage had paused, the spirited horse held in 



with difficulty till the slow line filed past. It few minutes later, " 'Morial Day " and all days on 

dashed forward impatiently when the way was clear, earth for little Joe were over ! 

and then there was a scream from the spectators, In the quiet, lonely field where the colored people 

a rush to the street as the horse flew by, and in lay their dead is a narrow little grave, and there, 

the dust lay little Joe, bleeding and senseless, the still, as Memorial Day comes round, poor Mammy 


big bouquet still clenched fast in his poor little 

They picked him up, and carried him into a ware- 
house close by, and, as they laid the little fellow 
down, and Mammy, with wild sobs and wails, took 
him tenderly in her arms, he slowly opened his 
eyes, and feeijly tried to put the flowers into her 

" De men — who died," he said, faintly, and, a 

brings her flowers and lays them down with bitter 
tears for the boy who was her last and dearest 
care. And Jack looks wistfully into her face, and 
whines and lays his head down upon the grave as 
if begging the child to come again. 

But Joe sleeps peacefully, like the brave men he 
would have honored ; and some day, we trust, in 
that brighter world, Mammy shall have her boy 
again, and Joe be lame no more, forever ! 


By Julia Magruder. 



Tulliver lived 
with their par- 
ents at Dorlcote 
Mill, a pictur- 
esque old place 
on the river 
' Floss. Tom was 
the elder, and 
though he was not 
so intelligent as Mag- 
gie many people liked 
him much better, be- 
cause he had none 
of the peculiarities 
which made Maggie 
seem different from 
other children. " He 
was one of those lads 
that grow everywhere 
^ j,^ England, and, at 

twelve or thirteen years of age, look as much alike 
as goslings — a lad with light-brown hair, cheeks 
of cream and roses, full lips, indeterminate nose 
and eyebrows — a physiognomy in which it seems 
impossible to discern anything but the generic 
character of boyhood ; as different as possible 
from poor Maggie's phiz, which nature seemed to 
have molded and colored with the most decided 

Mr. and Mrs. Tulliver were given to frequent 
discussions of their two children, the father always 
taking the part of his little favorite Maggie, over 
whom Mrs. Tulliver used to sigh and shake her 
head, because she was so odd and unmanageable, — 
and the mother always extolling the eldest-born, 
Tom, — whom Mr. Tulliver, in spite of his fatherly 
affection, considered "a bit slowish." 

" ' The little un takes after my side, now,' said 
Mr. Tulliver, in the course of one of these dis- 
cussions ; ' she 's twice as 'cute as Tom. Too 
'cute for a woman, I 'm afraid. . . . It 's no 
mischief much while she 's a little un.' 

" ' Yes it is a mischief while she 's a little un, 
Mr. Tulliver, for it all runs to naughtiness. How 
to keep her in a clean pinafore two hours together 
passes my cunning. An', now you put me i' 

* " Mill on 

mind,' continued Mrs. Tulliver, rising and going 
to the window, ' I don't know where she is now, 
an' it 's pretty nigh tea-time. Ah ! I thought 
so — wanderin' up an' down by the water like a 
wild thing : she '11 tumble in some day.' 

"Mrs. Tulliver rapped the window sharply, 
beckoned and shook her head — a process which 
she repeated more than once before she returned 
to her chair. 

"'You talk o' cuteness, Mr. Tulliver,' she ob- 
served as she sat down, ' but I 'm sure the child 's 
half an idiot i' some things ; for if I send her up- 
stairs to fetch anything, she forgets what she 's 
gone for, an' perhaps 'ull sit down on the floor i' 
the sunshine, an' plait her hair an' sing to herself 
like a Bedlam creatur', all the while I 'm waiting 
for her downstairs. That nivir runs i' my family, 
thank God, no more nor a brown skin as makes 
her look like a mulatter. I don't like to fly i' the 
face o' Providence, but it seems hard as I should 
have but one gell, an' her so comical.' 

"'Pooh! nonsense! said Mr. Tulliver; 'she's 
a straight black-eyed wench as anybody need wish 
to see. I don't know i' what she 's behind other 
folks's children ; and she can read almost as well as 
the parson.' 

" ' But her hair won't curl all 1 can do with it, 
and she's so franzy about having it put i' paper, 
and I have such work as never was to make her 
stand and have it pinched with th' iron?.' 

" ' Cut it off — cut it off short,' said the father 

" ' How can you talk so, Mr. Tulliver? She's 
too big a gell, gone nine, and tall of her age, to 
have her hair cut short ; an' there 's her cousin 
Lucy 's got a row o' curls round her head an' not 
a hair out o' place. It seems hard as my sister 
Deane should have that pretty child ; I 'm sure 
Lucy takes more after me nor my own child does. 
Maggie, Maggie,' continued the mother, in a tone 
of half-coaxing fretfulness, as this small mistake of 
nature entered the room, ' where 's the use o' my 
telling you to keep away from the water? You 'II 
tumble in and be drownded some day, an' then 
you 'II be sorry 5'ou did n't do as mother told you.' 

"Maggie's hair, as she threw off her bonnet, 
painfully confirmed her mother's accusation : Mrs. 

the Floss." 




Tulliver, desiring her daughter to have a curled 
crop ' like other folks's children,' had had it cut too 
short in front to be pushed behind the ears ; and 
as it was usually straight an hour after it had been 
taken out of paper, Maggie was incessantly toss- 
ing her head to keep the dark, heavy locks out 
of her gleaming black eyes — an action which gave 
her very much the air of a small Shetland pony. 

" ' Oh dear, oh dear, Maggie, what are you 
thinkin' of, to throw your bonnet down there ? 
Take it upstairs, there's a good gell, an' let your 
hair be brushed, an' put your other pinafore on, 
an' change your shoes — do, for shame ; an' come 
an' go on with your patchwork, like a little lady.' 

"'Oh mother,' said Maggie in a vehemently 
cross tone, ' I don't want to do my patchwork.' 

" ' What ! not your pretty patchwork, to make a 
counterpane for your Aunt Glegg ? ' 

" ' It 's foolish work,' said Maggie, with a toss of 
her mane — ' tearing things to pieces to sew 'em 
together again. And I don't want to do anything 
for my Aunt Glegg — I don't like her.' 

" Exit Maggie, dragging her bonnet by the 
string, while Mr. Tulliver laughs audibly." 

A few days later Mr. Riley, a neighbor of Mr. 
Tulliver's, happened to come to the house, and 
in a conversation which followed, Maggie heard 
these words : 

" ' It 's a very particular thing. . . it 's about 
my boy Tom.' 

"At the sound of this name, Maggie, who was 
seated on a low stool close by the fire, with a large 
book open on her lap, shook her heavy hair 
back and looked up eagerly. There were few 
sounds that roused Maggie when she was dream- 
ing over her book, but Tom's name served as well 
as the shrillest whistle : in an instant she was on 
the watch, with gleaming eyes, like a Skye terrier 
suspecting mischief or, at all events, determined 
to fly at any one who threatened it toward Tom. 

" ' You see, I want to put him to a new school 
at Midsummer,' said Mr. Tulliver; ' he 's comin' 
away from the 'cademy at Lady-day, an' I shall let 
him run loose for a quarter ; but after that I want 
to send him to a downright good school, where 
they '11 make a scholard of him. . . . I don't 
Tom to be a miller and farmer. I see no fun i' 
that : why, if I made him a miller an' farmer, he 'd 
be expectin' to take to the mill an' the land, an' 
a-hinting at me as it was time for me to lay by an' 
think o' my latter end. Nay, nay, I 've seen 
enough o' that wi' sons. I '11 never pull my coat 
off before I go to bed. I shall give Tom an eddi- 
cation an' put him to a business, as he may make 
a nest for himself, an' not want to push me out o' 
mine.' " 

"This was evidently a point on which Mr. 

Tulliver felt strongly, and the impetus which had 
given unusual rapidity and emphasis to his speech 
showed itself still unexhausted for some minutes 
afterward in a defiant motion of the head from side 
to side, and an occasional ' Nay, nay,' like a sub- 
siding growl. 

" These angry symptoms were keenly observed 
by Maggie, and cut her to the cjuick. Tom, it 
appeared, was supposed capable of turning his 
father out-of-doors, and of making the future in 
some way tragic by his wickedness. This was 
not to be borne ; and Maggie jumped up from her 
stool, forgetting all about her heavy book, which 
fell with a bang within the fender ; and, going up 
between her father's knees, said, in a half-crying, 
half-indignant voice, 

"'Father, Tom would n't be naughty to you 
ever ; I know he would n't.' " 

" ' What ! they must n't say any harm o' Tom, 
eh ? ' said Mr. Tulliver, looking at Maggie with a 
twinkling eye. Then, in a lower voice, turning to 
Mr. Riley, as though Maggie could n't hear, 
' She understands what one 's talking about so as 
never was. And you should hear her read — straight 
off, as if she knowed it all beforehand. And allays 
at her book ! But it 's bad — it 's bad,' Mr. Tul- 
liver added, sadly, checking this blamable exulta- 
tion ; ' a woman 's no business wi' being so clever ; 
it '11 turn to trouble, I doubt. But, bless you ! . . . 
she '11 read the books and tmderstand 'em better 
nor half the folks as are growed up.' 

" Maggie's cheeks began to flush with triumph- 
ant excitement : she thought Mr. Riley would 
have a respect for her now; it had been evident 
that he thought nothing of her before. 

" Mr. Riley was turning over the leaves of the 
book, and she could make nothing of his face, 
with its high-arched eyebrows ; but he presently 
looked at her and said, 

" ' Come, come and tell me something about 
this book ; here are some pictures — 1 want to 
know what they mean.' 

" Maggie, with deepening color, went without 
hesitation to Mr. Riley's elbow and looked over 
the book, eagerly seizing one corner and tossing 
back her mane, while she said, 

" ' Oh, I '11 tell you what that means. It 's a 
dreadful picture, is n't it ? But I can't help look- 
ing at it. That old woman in the water 's a witch 
— they 've put her in to find out whether she 's a 
witch or no, and if she swims she 's a witch, and if 
she 's drowned — and killed, you know — she's 
innocent, and not a witch, but only a poor silly 
old woman. But what good would it do her then, 
you know, when she was drowned ? Only, I sup- 
pose, she 'd go to Heaven and God would make 
it up to her. And this dreadful blacksmith with 




his arms akimbo, laughing — oh, is n't he ugly ? — 
I '11 tell you what he is. He 's the devil really ' 
(here Maggie's voice became louder and more em- 
phatic), ' and not a right blacksmith.' 

" ' Why, what book is it the wench has got hold 
on ? ' burst out Mr. Tulliver at last. 

When Mr. Riiey named the work and added, 
rather reproachfully, ' How came it among your 
books, Tulliver?' Maggie looked hurt and dis- 
couraged, while her father said, 

" ' Why, it 's one o' the books 1 bought at Par- 
tridge's sale. They was all bound alike — it 's a 
good binding, you see — and I thought they 'd be 
all good books. . . . But it seems one must n't 
judge by th' outside. This is a puzzlin' world.' 

" ' Well,' said Mr. Riley, in an admonitory 
patronizing tone, as he patted Maggie on the head, 
' I advise you to read some prettier book. Have 
you no prettier books ? ' 

" ' Oh yes,' said Maggie, reviv ing a little, in the 
desire to vindicate the variety of her reading, ' I 
know the reading in this book is n't pretty, but 1 
like the pictures, and I make stories to the pictures 
out of my own head, you know. But I 've got 
^■Esop's Fables, and a book about kangaroos and 
things, and the Pilgriiii's Progress.'' " 

'' ' Ah ! a beautiful book,' said Mr. Riley ; ' you 
can't read a better.' 

" ' Well, but there 's a great deal about the devil 
in that,' said Maggie, triumphantly, ' and 1 '11 
show you the picture of him in his true shape, as 
he fought with Christian.' 

"Maggie ran in an instant to the corner of the 
room, jumped on a chair, and reached down from 
the small bookcase a shabby old copy of Bunyan, 
which opened at once, without the least trouble ot 
search, at the picture she wanted. 

"' Here he is,' she said, running back to Mr. 
Riley, ' and Tom colored him for me with his 
paints when he was at home last holidays — the 
body all black, you know, and the eyes red, like 
fire, because he "s all fire inside, and it shines out 
at his eyes.' 

" ' Go, go ! ' said Mr. Tulliver. " " ' Shut up the 
book and let 's hear no more o'such talk. It is as 
I thought — the child '11 learn more mischief nor 
good vvi' the books. Go — go and see after your 

" Maggie shut up the book at once, with a sense 
of disgrace ; but, not being inclined to see after 
her mother, she compromised the matter by going 
into a dark corner behind her father's chair, and 
nursing her doll, toward which she had an occa- 
sional fit of fondness in Tom's absence, neglecting 
its toilette, but lavishing so many warm kisses on 
it, that the waxen cheeks had a wasted, unhealthy 

Mr. Tulliver's consultation with Mr. Riley re- 
sulted in the determination to send Tom to school 
to a Mr. Stelling, a clergyman who took a few boys 
as pupils into his own home. Mrs. Tulliver was 
called in, and after a great deal of discussion, the 
thing seemed settled. 

" ' Father,' broke in Maggie, who had stolen 
unperceived to her father's elbow again, listening 
with parted lips, while she held her doll topsy- 
turvy, and crushed its nose against the wood of 
the chair — ' Father, is it a long way off, where 
Tom is to go ? Sha'n't we ever go to see him ? ' 

" ' I don't know, my wench,' said the father, 
tenderly. ' Ask Mr. Riley ; he knows.' 

" Maggie came round promptly in front of Mr. 
Riley, and said, ' How far is it, please, sir? ' 

" 'Oh, a long, long way off.' . . . 'You 
must borrow the seven-leagued boots to get to 

" ' That 's nonsense ! ' said Maggie, tossing her 
head haughtily, and turning away with the tears 
springing in her eyes. She began to dislike Mr. 
Riley : it was evident that he thought her silly 
and of no consequence. 

" ' Hush, Maggie, for shameof you, asking ques- 
tions and chattering,' said her mother. ' Come 
and sit down on your little stool, and hold your 
tongue, do.' " 

So Maggie was obliged to be content without 
any more exact information. 

" It was a heavy disappointment to Maggie that 
she was not allowed to go with her father in the 
gig when he went to fetch Tom home from the 
academy ; but the morning was too wet, Mrs. 
Tulliver said, for a little girl to go out in her best 
bonnet. Maggie took the opposite view very 
strongly; and it was a direct consequence of this 
difference of opinion that, when her mother was in 
the act of brushing out the reluctant black crop, 
Maggie suddenly rushed from under her hands 
and dipped her head in a basin of water standing 
near, in the vindictive determination that there 
should be no more chance of curls that day. 

" ' Maggie, Maggie,' exclaimed Mrs. Tulliver, 
sitting stout and helpless, with the brushes on 
her lap, ' what is to become of you if you 're so 
naughty ? I '11 tell your Aunt Glegg and your 
Aunt Pullet, when they come next week, and 
they '11 never love you any more. Oh dear, oh 
dear, look at your clean pinafore, wet from top to 
bottom.' " 

" Before this remonstrance was finished Maggie 
was already out of hearing, making her way toward 
the great attic that ran under the old high-pitched 
roof, shaking the water from her black locks as 
she ran, like a Skye terrier escaped from his bath. 
This attic was Maggie's favorite retreat on a wet 




day, when the weather was not too cold ; here she 
fretted out all her ill-humors, and talked aloud to 
the worm-eaten floors and the worm-eaten shelves, 
and the dark rafters festooned with cobwebs ; and 
here she kept a Fetish which she punished for all 
her misfortunes. This was the trunk of a large 
wooden doll, which once stared with the roundest 
of eyes above the reddest of cheeks, but was now 
entirely defaced." She had many a time " soothed 
herself by alternately grinding and beating the 
wooden head against the rough brick of the great 
chimneys that made two square pillars supporting 
the roof That was what she did this morning on 
reaching the attic, sobbing all the while with a 
passion that expelled every other form of con- 
sciousness — even the memory of the grievance 
that had caused it. As at last the sobs were getting 
quieter, and the grinding less fierce, a sudden 
beam of sunshine, falling through the wire lattice 
across the worm-eaten shelves, made her throw 
away the Fetish and run to the window. The sun 
was really breaking out ; the sound of the mill 
seemed cheerful again ; the granary doors were 
open ; and there was Yap, the queer white and 
brown terrier, with one ear turned back, trotting 
about and snuffing vaguely as if he were in search 
of a companion. It was irresistible. Maggie tossed 
her hair back and ran downstairs, seized her bon- 
net without putting it on, peeped, and then dashed 
along the passage lest she should encounter her 
mother, and was quickly out in the yard, whirling 
round . . . and singing as she whirled, ' Yap, 
Yap, Tom 's coming home ! ' while Yap danced 
and barked round her, as much as to say, if there 
was any noise wanted, he was the dog for it. 

" ' Hegh, hegh. Miss, you '11 make yourself giddy, 
an' tumble down i' the dirt,' said Luke, the head 

" Maggie paused in her whirling, and said, 
staggering a little, ' Oh no, it does n't make me 
giddy, Luke ; may I go into the mill with you ? ' 

" Maggie loved to linger in the great spaces of 
the mill, and often came out with her black hair 
powdered to a soft whiteness that made her dark 
eyes flash out with a new fire. The resolute din, 
the unresting motion of the great stones . . . 
the meal forever pouring, pouring — the fine white 
powder softening all surfaces, and making the very 
spider-nets look like a faery lacework — the sweet 
pure scent of the meal — all helped to make 
Maggie feel that the mill was a little world apart 
from her outside every-day life. The spiders were 
especially a subject of speculation with her. She 
wondered if they had any relations outside the 
mill, for in that case there must be a painful diffi- 
culty in their family intercourse — a fat and floury 
spider, accustomed to take his fly well dusted with 

meal, must suffer a little at a cousin's table where 
the fly was an na/iircl, and the lady-spiders must 
be mutually shocked at each other's appearance. 
But the part of the mill she liked best was the top- 
most story — the corn-hutch, where there were the 
great heaps of grain, which she could sit on and 
slide down continually. She was in the habit of 
taking this recreation as she conversed with Luke, 
to whom she was very communicative, wishing him 
to think well of her understanding, as her father 

"Perhaps she felt it necessary to recover her 
position with him on the present occasion, for, as 
she sat sliding on the heap of grain near which he 
was busying himself, she said, at that shrill pitch 
which was requisite in mill-society, 

" I think you never read any book but the 
Bible — did you, Luke?' 

" ' Nay, Miss — an' not much o' that,' said Luke, 
with great frankness. ' I 'm no reader, I are n't.' 

" ' But if I lent you one of my books, Luke ? 
I 've not got any very pretty books that would be 
easy for you to read, but there 's Pug^s Tour of 
Europe — that would tell you all about the differ- 
ent sorts of people in the world, and if you did n't 
understand the reading, the pictures would help 
you — they show the looks and ways of people and 
what they do. There are the Dutchmen, very fat, 
and smoking, you know — and one sitting on a 

" ' Nay, Miss, I 'n no opinion o' Dutchmen. 
There be n't much good i' knowin' about thcvi.'' 

" 'But they 're our fellow-creatures, Luke — we 
ought to know about our fellow-creatures.' " 

'''Perhaps you would like Animated Nature 
better ; that 's not Dutchmen, you know, but ele- 
phants, and kangaroos, and the civet cat, and the 
sun-fish, and a bird sitting on its tail — I forget its 
name. There are countries full of those creatures, 
instead of horses and cows, you know. Should n't 
you like to know about them, Luke? ' 

" ' Nay, Miss, I 'n got to keep count o' the flour 
an' corn — I can't do wi' knowin' so many things 
besides my work.' " 

" ' Why you 're like my brother Tom, Luke,' said 
Maggie, wishing to turn the conversation agree- 
ably ; ' Tom 's not fond of reading. I love Tom 
so dearly, Luke — better than anybody else in the 
world. When he grows up, I shall keep his house, 
and we shall always live together. I can tell him 
everything he does n't know. But I think Tom 's 
clever for all he does n't like books ; he makes 
beautiful whipcord and rabbit-pens.' 

" ' Ah ! ' said Luke, ' but he '11 be fine an' vexed 
as the rabbits are all dead.' 

" ' Dead ! ' screamed Maggie, jumping up from 
her sliding seat on the corn. 'Oh dear, Luke ! 




What ! the lop-eared one, and the spotted doe 
that Tom spent all his money to buy ? ' 

" ' As dead as moles,' said Luke." 

" 'Oh dear, Luke,' said Maggie in a piteous 
tone while the tears rolled down her cheek. ' Tom 
told me to take care of 'em, and 1 forgot. What 
shall I do ? ' 

"'Well, you see. Miss, they were in that far 
tool-house, an' it was nobody's business to see to 
'em. I reckon Master Tom told Harry to feed 'em, 
but there 's no counting on Harry.' " 

" ' Oh, Luke, Tom told me to be sure and re- 
member the rabbits everyday; but how could 1, 
when they did n't come into my head, you know ? 
Oh, he will be so angry with me, I know he will, 
and so sorry about his rabbits — and so am I sorry. 
Oh, what shall I do ? "' 

" Tom was to arrive early in the afternoon, and 
there was another fluttering heart besides Maggie's 
when it was late enough for the sound of the gig- 
wheels to be expected ; for if Mrs. Tulliver had a 
strong feeling, it was fondness for her boy. At last 
the sound came, — the quick, light bowling of the 
gig-wheels, — and in spite of the wind, which was 
blowing the clouds about, and was not likely to 
respect Mrs. Tulliver's curls and cap-strings, she 
came outside the door and even held her hand on 
Maggie's offending head, forgetting all the griefs 
of the morning, 

" ' There he is, my sweet lad ! ' " 

" Mrs. Tulliver stood with her arms open ; Mag- 
gie jumped first on one leg and then on the other; 
while Tom descended from the gig, and said, with 
masculine reticence as to the tender emotions, 
' Hallo ! Yap — what ! are you there ? ' " 

" Nevertheless he consented to be kissed will- 
ingly enough, though Maggie hung on his neck 
in rather a strangling fashion, while his blue-gray 
eyes wandered toward the croft, and the lambs, 
and the river, where he promised himself that he 
would begin to fish the first thing to-morrow 

" ' Maggie,' said Tom, confidentially, taking her 
into a corner, as soon as his mother was gone out 
to examine his box, and the warm parlor had taken 
off the chill he had felt from the long drive, ' you 
don't know what I 've got in my pockets,' nodding 
his head up and down as a means of rousing her 
sense of mystery. 

"'No,' said Maggie. ' How stodgy they look, 
Tom! Is it marls (marbles) or cobnuts?' Mag- 
gie's heart sank a little because Tom always said it 
was ' no good ' playing with her at those games — 
she played so badly. 

" ' Marls ! no ; I 've swapped all my marls with 
the little fellows, and cobnuts are no fun, you silly, 
only when the nuts are green. But see here ! ' 

and he drew something half out of his right-hand 

" 'What is it?' said Maggie, in a whisper. 'I 
can see nothing but a bit of yellow.' 

" ' Why, it 's . . . a . . . new . . . guess, 

"'Oh, I can't guess, Tom,' said Maggie im- 

" ' Uon't be a spitfire, else I won't tell you,' said 
Tom, thrusting his hand back in his pocket, and 
looking determined. 

" 'No, Tom,' said Maggie, imploringly, laying 
hold of the arm that was held stiffly in the pocket. 
' I 'm not cross, Tom ; it was only because 1 can't 
bear guessing. Please be good to me.' 

"Tom's arm slowly relaxed, and he said, 'Well, 
then, it 's a new fish-line, — two new uns, — one for 
you, Maggie, all to yourself. I would n't go halves 
in the toffee and gingerbread on purpose to save the 
money ; and Gibson and Spouncer fought with me 
because I would n't. And here's hooks — see 
here ! . . . 1 say, won't we go and fish to- 
morrow down by Round Pool ? And you shall 
catch your own fish, Maggie, and put the worms 
on, and everything: won't it be fun ? ' 

" Maggie's answer was to throw her arms around 
Tom's neck and hug him, and hold her cheek 
against his without speaking, while he slowly un- 
wound some of the line, saying, after a pause : 

" ' Was n't I a good brother, now, to buy you a 
line all to yourself? You know, I need n't have 
bought it if I had n't liked.' 

" ' Yes, very, very good. . . . \ do love you, 

" Tom had put the line back in his pocket, and 
was looking at the hooks one by one before he 
spoke again. 

" 'And the fellows fought me because 1 would 
n't give in about the toffee.' 

"'Oh dear! I wish they would n't fight at 
your school, Tom. Did n't it hurt you ? ' 

'■Hurt me? no,' said Tom, putting up the 
hooks again, taking out a large pocket-knife, and 
slowly opening the largest blade, which he looked 
at meditatively as he rubbed his fingers along it. 
Then he added, 

" ' I gave Spouncer a black eye, I know — that 's 
what he got by wanting to leather tue ; 1 was n't 
going to go halves because anybody leathered 

" ' Oh, how brave you are, Tom ! 1 think you 're 
like Samson. If there came a lion roaring at me, 
1 think you 'd fight him — would n't you, Tom ? ' 

" ' How can a lion come roaring at you, you 
silly thing ? There 's no lions only in the shows.' 

" ' No ; but if we were in the lion countries — 1 
mean, in Africa, where it 's very hot — the lions eat 




people there. I can show it you in the book where 
I read it.' 

" ' Well, I should get a gun and shoot him.' 

"'But if you had n't got a gun — we might 
have gone out, you know, not thinking, just as we 
go fishing; and then a great lion might run toward 
us roaring, and we could n't get away from him. 
What should you do, Tom ? ' 

" Tom paused, and at last turned away con- 

" 'Oh, don't bother, Maggie ! You 're such a 
silly — I shall go and see my rabbits.' 

" Maggie's heart began to flutter with fear. She 
dared not tell the sad truth, at once ; but she 
walked after Tom in trembling silence as he went 
out, thinking how she could tell him the news so 
as to soften at once his sorrow and his anger; for 
Maggie dreaded Tom's anger of all things — it was 
quite a different anger from her own. 

"it was one of their happy mornings." (see page 611.) 

temptuously, saying, ' But the lion is n't coming. 
What 's the use of talking? ' 

"'But I like to fancy how it would be,' said 
Maggie, following him. ' Just think what you 
would do, Tom.' 

Vol. XV.— 39. 

" ' Tom,' she said timidly, when they were out- 
of doors, ' how much money did you give for your 
rabbits ? ' 

" ' Two half-crowns and a sixpence,' said Tom, 




" ' I think I 've got a great deal more than that 
in my steel purse upstairs. I '11 ask mother to 
give it to you.' 

" ' What for? ' said Tom, ' 1 don't want your 
money, you silly thing. I 've got a great deal 
more money than you, because I 'm a boy. 1 
always have half-sovereigns and sovereigns for my 
Christmas boxes, because I shall be a man, and 
you only have five-shilling pieces, because you 're 
only a girl.' 

" 'Well, but, Tom — if mother would let me 
give you two half-crowns and a sixpence out of my 
purse to put into your pocket to spend, you know, 
and buy some more rabbits with it ? ' 

" ' More rabbits? I don't want any more.' 

" ' Oh, but, Tom, they 're all dead.' 

" Tom stopped immediately in his walk and 
turned round toward Maggie. ' You forgot to feed 
'em, then, and Harry forgot,' he said, his color 
heightening for a moment, but soon subsiding. 
' I '11 pitch into Harry — I '11 have him turned 
away. And I don't love you, Maggie. You sha'n't 
go fishing with me to-morrow. I told you to go 
and see the rabbits every day.' He walked on 

" ' Yes, but I forgot — and I could n't help it, 
indeed, Tom. I 'm so very sorry,' said Maggie, 
while the tears rushed fast. 

" 'You 're a naughty girl,' said Tom, severely, 
' and I 'm sorry I bought you the fish-line. I don't 
love you.' 

" ' Oh, Tom, it 's very cruel,' sobbed Maggie. 
' I 'd forgive you if you forgot anything — I would 
n't mind what you did — I 'd forgive you and love 
you ! ' 

"'Yes, you 're a silly; but I never do forget 
things — / don't.' 

"'Oh please forgive me, Tom; my heart will 
break,' said Maggie, shaking with sobs, clinging 
to Tom's arm, and laying her wet cheek on his 

" Tom shook her off and stopped again, saying 
in a peremptory tone, ' Now, Maggie, you just 
listen. Are n't I a good brother to you ? ' 

" ' Ye-ye-es,' sobbed Maggie, her chin rising 
and falling convulsively. 

"'Did n't 1 think about your fish-line all this 
quarter and mean to buy it, and saved my money 
o' purpose, and would n't go halves in the toffee, 
and Spouncer fought me because I would n't ? ' 

" ' Ye-yc-cs . . . and I . . . lo-lo-love 
you so, Tom.' 

" 'But you 're a naughty girl. Last holidays 
you licked the paint off my lozenge-box, and the 
holidays before that you let the boat drag my fish- 
line down when I set you to watch it, and you 
pushed your head through my kite all for nothing.' 

" 'But I did n't mean,' said Maggie; ' I could 
n't help it.' 

" ' Yes, you could,' said Tom, ' if you 'd minded 
what you were doing. And you 're a naughty 
girl, and you sha'n't go fishing with me to-morrow.' 

" With this terrible conclusion, Tom ran away 
from Maggie toward the mill, meaning to greet 
Luke there, and complain to him of Harry. 

"Maggie stood motionless, except from her 
sobs, for a minute or two ; then she turned round 
and ran into the house, and up to her attic, where 
she sat on the floor, and laid her head against the 
worm-eaten shelf, with a crushing sense of misery. 
Tom was come home, and she had thought how 
happy she should be, and now he was cruel to her. 
What use was anything if Tom did n't love her ? 
Oh, he was very cruel ! Had n't she wanted to 
give him the money, and said how very sorry she 
was ? She knew she was naughty to her mother, 
but she had never been naughty to Tom — had 
never meant to be naughty to him. 

" ' Oh, he is cruel ! ' sobbed Maggie aloud, find- 
ing a wretched pleasure in the hollow resonance 
that came through the long empty space of the 
attic. She never thought of beating or grinding 
her Fetish ; she was too miserable to be angry. 

" Maggie soon thought she had been hours in 
the attic, and it must Idc tea-time, and they were 
all having their tea and not thinking of her. Well, 
then, she would stay up there and starve herself — 
hide herself behind the tub and stay there all 
night ; and then they would all be frightened and 
Tom would be sorry. Thus Maggie thought in 
the pride of her heart, as she crept behind the tub ; 
but presently she began to cry again at the idea 
that they did n't mind her being there. If she 
went down again to Tom now, would he forgive 
her ? Perhaps her father would be there, and he 
would take her part. But, then, she wanted Tom 
to forgive her because he loved her, not because 
his father told him. No, she would never go down, 
if Tom did n't come to fetch her. This resolution 
lasted in great intensity for five dark minutes 
behind the tub ; but then the need of being loved, 
the strongest need in poor Maggie's nature, began 
to wrestle with her pride and soon threw it. She 
crept from behind her tub into the twilight of the 
long attic, but just then she heard a quick foot- 
step on the stairs." 

It was Tom's step, but he was not coming, as 
she ardently hoped, of his own free will, to make 
friends with her, and say he had forgiven her. 
The truth was he had been so busy talking to 
Luke, and visiting all the old familiar haunts, that 
he had not thought of Maggie until tea-time came, 
and he was questioned by his father and mother 
about his little sister, and sent off, when he had 




just begun on the plum-cake, to search for her. 
Maggie " knew Tom's step, and her heart began 
to beat violently with the sudden shock of hope. 
He only stood still at the top of the stairs and said, 
' Maggie, you 're to come down.' But she rushed 
to him and clung round his neck, sobbing, ' Oh, 
Tom, please forgive me — I can't bear it — I will 
always be good — always remember things — do 
love me — please, dear Tom ? ' " 

" Maggie and Tom were still very much like 
young animals, and so she could rub her cheek 
against his, and kiss his ear in a random, sobbing 
way ; and there were tender fibers in the lad that 
had been used to answer to Maggie's fondling, so 
that he behaved with a weakness quite inconsistent 
with his resolution to punish her as much as she 
deserved ; he actually began to kiss her in return, 
and say, 

" 'Don't cry, then, Magsie — here, eat a bit o' 
cake. ' 

" Maggie's sobs began to subside, and she put 
out her mouth for the cake and bit a piece ; and 
then Tom bit a piece, just for company ; and they 
ate together, and rubbed each other's cheeks, and 
brows, and noses, together, while they ate, with a 
humiliating resemblance to two friendly ponies. 

" ' Come along, Magsie, and have tea,' said 
Tom at last, when there was no more cake except 
what was downstairs. 

" So ended the sorrows of this day, and the next 
morning Maggie was trotting with her own fishing- 
rod in one hand and a handle of the basket in the 
other, stepping always, by a peculiar gift, in the 
muddiest places, and looking darkly radiant from 
under her beaver bonnet because Tom was good 
to her. She had told Tom, however, that she 
should like him to put the worms on the hook for 
her, although she accepted his word when he as- 
sured her that worms could n't feel (it was Tom's 
private opinion that it did n't much matter if they 
did). He knew all about worms, and fish, and 
those things ; and what birds were mischievous, 
and how padlocks opened, and which way the 
handles of the gates were to be lifted. Maggie 
thought this sort of knowledge was very wonderful 
— much more difficult than remembering what was 
in the books ; and she was rather in awe of Tom's 
superiority, for he was the only person who called 
her knowledge 'stuff,' and did not feel surprised 
at her cleverness. Tom, indeed, was of opinion 
that Maggie was a silly little thing ; all girls were 
silly : they could n't throw a stone so as to hit any- 
thing, could n't do anything with a pocket-knife, 
and were frightened at frogs. Still, he was very 
fond of his sister, and meant always to take care of 
her, make her his housekeeper, and punish her 
when she did wrong. 

" They were on their way to the Round Pool, — 
that wonderful pool, which the floods had made a 
long while ago. No one knew how deep it was ; 
and it was mysterious, too, that it should be almost 
a perfect round, framed in with willows and tall 
reeds, so that the water was only to be seen when 
you got close to the brink. The sight of the old 
favorite spot always heightened Tom's good-humor, 
and he spoke to Maggie in the most amiable whis- 
pers, as he opened the precious basket and pre- 
pared their tackle. He threw her line for her, and 
put the rod into her hand. Maggie thought it 
probable that the small fish would come to her 
hook, and the large ones to Tom's. But she had 
forgotten all about the fish, and was looking 
dreamily at the glassy water, when Tom said, in a 
loud whisper, ' Look ! look, Maggie ! ' and came 
running to prevent her from snatching her line 

" Maggie was frightened lest she had been doing 
something wrong, as usual, but presently Tom 
drew out her line and brought a large tench boun- 
cing on the grass. 

"Tom was excited. 

'"Oh, Magsie! you Httle duck! Empty the 

" Maggie was not conscious of unusual merit, 
but it was enough that Tom called her Magsie 
and was pleased with her. There was nothing to 
mar her delight in the whispers and the dreamy 
silences, when she listened to the light dipping 
sounds of the rising fish, and the gentle rustling, 
as if the willows, and the reeds, and the water had 
their happy whisperings also. Maggie thought it 
would make a very nice heaven to sit by the pool 
in that way, and never be scolded. She never 
knew she had a bite till Tom told her, but she 
liked fishing very much. 

" It was one of their happy mornings. They 
trotted along and sat down together, with no 
thought that life would ever change much for 
them ; they would only get bigger, and not go to 
school, and it would always be like the holidays ; 
they would always live together and be fond of 
each other. And the mill with its booming, — the 
great chestnut-trce under which they played at 
houses, — their own little river, the Ripple, where 
the banks seemed like home, and Tom was always 
seeing the water-rats, while Maggie gathered the 
purple, plumy tops of the reeds, which she forgot 
and dropped afterward — above all, the great Floss, 
along which they wandered with a sense of travel, 
to see the rushing spring-tide, the awful Eagre, 
come up like a hungry monster, or to see the 
Great Ash which had once wailed and groaned like a 
man — these things would always be just the same 
to them. Tom thought people were at a disad- 



vantage who lived on any other spot of the globe; 
and Maggie, when she read about Christiana pass- 
ing ' the river over which there is no bridge,' always 
saw the Floss between the green pastures by the 
Great Ash." 

Mrs. Tulliverwas a woman who thought a great 
deal of her family, and it was always her habit, 
before entering into any serious undertaking, to 
ask her sisters and their husbands to her house, 
for a family council ; so they were now bidden to 
come and confer about sending Tom to Mr. Stel- 
ling, before the final arrangements should be 

Tom, for his part, " was as far from appreciating 
his 'kin' on the mother's side as Maggie herself ; 
generally absconding for the day with a large sup- 
ply of the most portable food when he received 
timely warning that his aunts and uncles were 
coming. ... It was rather hard on Maggie that 
Tom always absconded without letting her into 
the secret." 

On the day before the arrival of the expected 
guests, "there were such various and suggestive 
scents, as of plum-cakes in the oven, and jellies in 
the hot state, mingled with the aroma of gravy, 
that it was impossible to feel altogether gloomy ; 
there was hope in the air. Tom and Maggie made 
several inroads into the kitchen, and . . . were in- 
duced to keep aloof for a time only by being allowed 
to carry away " a sample of the good things. 

" ' Tom,' said Maggie, as they sat on the boughs 
of the elder-tree, eating their jam puffs, 'shall you 
run away to-morrow ? ' 

" 'No,' said Tom, slowly, when he had finished 
his puff and was eying the third, which was to be 
divided between them, ' no, 1 sha'n't.' 

" 'Why, Tom ? Because Lucy 's coming ? ' 

" 'No,' said Tom, opening his pocket-knife, and 
holding it over the puff, with his head on one side 
in a dubitative manner, . . . ' what do / care 
about Lucy ? She 's only a girl ; she can't play 
at bandy.' 

" ' Is it the tipsy-cake, then?' said Maggie, ex- 
erting her hypothetic powers, while she leaned 
forward toward Tom with her eyes fixed on the 
hovering knife. 

" ' No, you silly ; that '11 be good the day after. 
It 's the pudden. I know what the pudden 's 
to be — apricot roll-up — oh, my buttons ! ' 

"With this interjection, the knife descended on 
the puff, and it was in two, but the result was not 
satisfactory to Tom, for he still eyed the halves 
doubtfully. At last he said, 

" ' Shut your eyes, Maggie.' 

" 'What for?' 

" ' You never mind what for — shut 'em when I 
tell you.' 

" Maggie obeyed. 

" ' Now, which '11 you have, Maggie, right hand 
or left ? ' 

"'I'll have that with the jam run out,' said 
Maggie, keeping her eyes shut to please Tom. 

" ' Why, you don't like that, you silly. You 
may have it if it comes to you fair, but I sha'n't 
give it to you without. Right or left — you choose 
now. Ha-a-a ! ' said Tom, in a tone of exaspera- 
tion, as Maggie peeped. ' You keep your eyes 
shut now, else you sha'n't have any.' 

" Maggie's power of sacrifice did not extend so 
far ; indeed I fear that she cared less that Tom 
should enjoy the utmost possible amount of puff, 
than that he should be pleased with her for giving 
him the best bit. So she shut her eyes quite close 
till Tom told her to 'say which,' and then she 
said, ' Left hand.' 

"'You've got it,' said Tom, in rather a bitter 

" ' What ! the bit with the jam run out ? ' 

" ' No; here, take it,' said Tom, firmly, hand- 
ing decidedly the best piece to Maggie. 

"'Oh, Tom, please have it; I don't mind — I 
like the other; please take this.' 

" 'No, I sha'n't,' said Tom, almost crossly, be- 
ginning on his own inferior piece. 

" Maggie, thinking it was no use to contend fur- 
ther, began too, and ate up her half puff with con- 
siderable relish as well as rapidity. But Tom had 
finished first and had to look on, while Maggie ate 
her last morsel or two, feeling in himself a capacity 
for more. Maggie did n't know Tom was looking 
at her; she was seesawing on the elder bough, lost 
to almost everything but a vague sense of jam and 

" ' Oh, you greedy thing ! ' said Tom, when she 
had swallowed the last morsel. He was conscious 
of having acted very fairly, and thought she ought 
to have considered this, and made up to him for it. 
He would have refused a bit of hers beforehand, 
but one is naturally at a different point of view be- 
fore and after one's own share of puff is swallowed. 

"Maggie turned quite pale. 'Oh, Tom, why 
did n't you ask me ? ' 

"'/ wasn't going to ask you for a bit, you 
greedy. You might have thought of it without, 
when you knew I gave you the best bit.' 

"'But I wanted you to have it — you know I 
did,' said Maggie, in an injured tone. 

" 'Yes, but I was n't going to do what wasn't 
fair, like Spouncer. He always takes the best bit, 
if you don't punch him for it ; and if you choose 
the best, with your eyes shut, he changes his 
hands. But if I go halves, I '11 go 'em fair — only 
1 would n't be a greedy.' 

" With this . . . Tom jumped down from his 




bough, and threw a stone with a ' hoigh ! ' as a 
friendly attention to Yap, who had also been look- 
ing on while the eatables vanished, with an agita- 
tion of his ears and feelings which could hardly 
have been without bitterness. Yet the excellent 
dog accepted Tom's attention with as much alacrity 
as if he had been treated quite generously. 

" But Maggie ... sat still on her bough, and 
gave herself up to the keen sense of unmerited re- 
proach. She would have given the world not to 
have eaten all her puff, and to have saved some 
of it for Tom. Not but that the puff was very 
nice, . . . but she would have gone without it 

(To be CO. 

many times over sooner than Tom should call her 
greedy and be cross with her. And he had said 
he would n't have it — • and she ate it without think- 
ing — how could she help it? The tears flowed 
so plentifully that Maggie saw nothing around her 
for the next ten minutes ; but by that time resent- 
ment began to give way to the desire of reconcili- 
ation, and she jumped from her bough to look for 
Tom. . . . She ran to the high bank against the 
great holly-tree, where she could see far away to- 
ward the Floss. There was Tom ; but her heart 
sank again as she saw how far off he was on his 
way to the great river." 

eluded. ) 


By Estelle Thomson. 

Young Timothy crept to the old meadow bars, 

And, between the brown rails peeping through, 
Saw, — what do you think, — on the opposite 
side ? 

Two eyes of the prettiest blue. 

Two eyes of the prettiest, bluest of blue, 

Forget-me-nots hid in the grass ; 
But he could n't climb over, and could n't crawl 

And he 's peeping, still peeping, alas ! 

While the ship which carried Barnum's great felt fresher and in better spirits than his namesake, 

elephant from London to New York was plunging who made the voyage in three weeks less time, and 

along through the ocean, another ship, carrying was the heavier of the two by thousands and thou- 

another Jumbo, was sailing from Lerwick in the sands of pounds. All of you have seen Shetland 

Shetland Islands to the port of Granton. It was ponies at the circus, and perhaps many of you 

a long and tedious journey from his island home have your own ponies which you ride every day in 

between the Atlantic and the North Sea, touching the park; but I doubt whether any of you ever 

at three different ports and changing ships at each, saw so small a pony as Jumbo. I know / never 

then across the wide ocean to New York. He did ; and as there have been always from thirteen 

did n't seem to mind it though, and I dare say he to twenty full-grown Shetland ponies in the pasture 






at Grassfield, I have had ample opportunity to 
learn all about them. Jumbo was two years old 
when he came to us, and weighed one hundred and 
sixteen pounds. He seemed to thrive in the 
American climate ; for after he had been with us 
a year, he grew stouter and stouter until he 
could make the little marker on the scales 
point to one hundred and ninety pounds. 
This was his greatest weight, and he 
appeared to be very proud of it, for ^ 
when he stood on the platform of 
the scales he held his head very 

m Wi nTer. 

erect and neighed, as if to say, " There ! I am a 
very big pony, after all ! " 

When Jumbo was first turned into the pasture, 
and introduced to the other ponies, he galloped 
first to one, then to another, and so on through the 
whole herd, as if to become acquainted with his 
new friends. Many of the ponies were afraid of 
him at first, and one or two of the older ones bit 
at him and kicked him ; but he did n't seem in the 
least discouraged by this rude reception, and soon 
made himself perfectly at home. It was not long 
before he was on good terms with every one of the 
ponies except old Gypsy. She was a very bad- 

tempered animal, and whenever anything dis- 
pleased her she would raise her hind feet into the 
air, like the kicking mule which the clown rides at 
the circus. Of course Gypsy was very unpopular 
with the other ponies, just as cross people always 
are with their associates. I ought to say, as excuse 
for her, that she was \ cry old, and her grandchil- 
dren and great-great-grandchildren played around 
her in the pasture. That may be the reason she 
was not dealt with more harshly ; for, perhaps, 
ponies — like some little children — are taught to 
respect old age. 

Jumbo was as gentle as a kitten, and of course 



became the pet of the girls and boys. In fact, 
they grew so fond of him that the poor httle fellow 
never had a moment's rest from morning till 
night, during the summer vacation. Whenever 
there was an errand to be done at the village, it 
was Jumbo who had to be saddled, and bridled, 
and ridden up and down that long and tiresome 
hill. It was Jumbo, too, who must be harnessed to 
the little cart whenever stones were to be cleared 
away from the carriage road, or whenever a pail 
of water must be carried to the men in the hay- 
field. Then, too, Jumbo was taught to churn the 
butter on the endless chain ; and he did this work 
so much better than " Shep," that the dog had to 
resign the office to him, which lazy Shep was only too 
glad to do. When there were visitors at the house, 
Jumbo was often led on to the front piazza and 
then through the frontdoor into the main hall. He 
seemed to appreciate the honor, and his conduct 
in the house was quite exemplary. He would 
quietly eat an apple or a lump of salt from some- 
body's hand, and he was very careful to spill nothing 
on the floor. This may have been because he was 
anxious not to lose a bit of his luncheon, but I 
prefer to think it was a proof of his good manners. 

A favorite amusement of the children was to 
drive tandem; or to drive even four ponies in single 

file. In these cases Jumbo was always placed at 
the head of the procession, where he seemed fully 
to realize his importance as leader. He would trot 
along at a brisk pace, his head held in the air, 
raising his feet high from the ground at every step, 
that he might not stumble. He looked his best, 
however, when he stood on his hind legs, and 
balanced there as long as he could. He was also 
trained to lie down at the word of command. One 
of his tricks was to stand still while we lifted Shep 
to his back, and then to gallop furiously around 
the carriage road, until the dog would jump to the 
ground in fright. 

Jumbo was not a black pony, like most of those 
you have seen. There was a broad stripe of white 
along his back, extending under him, all the way 
around. Then, too, there was some white on his 
forehead, and on his tail. 

After telling you all about him, it seems too bad 
to have to end by saying that Jumbo is dead. 
The odd part of it is, that he died the same spring, 
and just the week after the elephant Jumbo. I wish 
that I could have seen them standing side by side. 
What a contrast there would have been ! There 
is a little colt of his in the pasture now, which is 
marked exactly like him. We have named this 
colt Huckleberry Finn. 



By Julia P. Ballard. 

One merry summer day They stole along my fence ; 

Two roses were at play ; They clambered up my wall; 

All at once they took a notion They climbed into my window 

They would like to run away ! To make a morning call ! 

Queer little roses ; Queer little roses ; 

Funny little roses, Funny little roses. 

To want to run away ! To make a morning call ! 



By John Preston True. 

Chapter IX. 

There was no reveille in that dormitory on the 
morning after the fire ; and although nearly all 
the boys awoke from force of habit at the hour 
when it should have sounded, they were ordered 
by the Doctor, after he had satisfied himself that 
though tired they were in good condition, to turn 
over and go to sleep again. This order they were 
not slow in obeying. Lessons were shortened that 
day, at roll-call, and drill as well; which led Fred 

Warrington to remark that he wished a fire would 
occur every fortnight ; though the novelty of the 
new manual was still fresh, and the boys enjoyed 
their quarter-staff play as much as ever. For 
steady exercise, however, both the principal and 
the Doctor were of opinion that it was too violent; 
while as a relaxation it was of use in enlivening the 
monotony of drill, and awakening new faculties in 
minds wearied by hard study. 

" It is not my whole plan to make much of it," 
observed the principal, in answer to some protest 




from Doctor McCarthy. ' ' There is more and better 
to come, as soon as my preparations are com- 
pleted. The quarter-staves serve meanwhile to 
fill up a gap ; and, when the time comes, will be 
relegated to their proper place in the system 
which I am evolving, and from which, contrary 
though it be to all school canons, I confidently ex- 
pect great results." 

"But why not have retained the muskets until 
you were ready?" asked the Doctor, curiously. 
" It would have saved some expense." 

" You misunderstand me ; I do not intend to 
retire the staves altogether. The guards, for in- 
stance, will still carry them when on duty, and 
once or twice a week there will be a general fen- 
cing bout. For the rest of the drill — well, that is 
still a secret," and the principal, laughing, turned 
away to the room where the senior class was awaiting 
him, leaving the Doctor, and some few of the boys 
who had been listening eagerly, in a state of unsatis- 
factory tantalization that can be imagined better 
than described. But the news which they could 
garner from the chaff was important, to wit : that 
there was yet more to come, and that they had not 
" seen the bottom of the basket." Wylie was sent 
for by the General, and had a long conversation 
with him on some subject unknown to the rest, 
but of which he was manifestly aching to tell. 

" Tell you what, Ed, I 'd surrender my commis- 
sion for the privilege of telling you all about it, if I 
could with honesty. It 's just the biggest thing that 
ever was heard of since the palmy days of Athens 
in the age of Pericles, and will make a stir that will 
be known of all over this continent, and perhaps 
some others as well," and Harry hugged himself in 
a vain endeavor to repress the feelings struggling 
for expression. 

" What 's the good of telling me that much and 
stopping there?" said Ed sulkily, and savagely 
biting a lead-pencil until he broke it ; whereat 
Harry laughed provokingly, and went to have 
another talk with the General. 

When he came away from headquarters, in- 
stead of returning at once to his room he walked 
down to the shore of the lake and looked off over 
the level expanse in a meditative way. The day 
was cold; it was one of those stinging days that 
come suddenly without any warning in the midst 
of mild weather; when the mercury drops far below 
the freezing point and the air itself seems to sparkle 
with frost. 

One or two boats which had not yet been put 
into winter quarters lay frozen in, while the whole 
lake was apparently ice-bound. It would be 
" skate-able " before night if the weather held. It 
was already strong enough to bear, along the shore ; 
and Harry cautiously crept out a little way to as- 

certain that important fact. When he returned 
he asked and obtained permission to go to the vil- 
lage, drawing a small sum from the money which 
the principal held in trust for him. Harry then 
made several purchases : two cane fishing-rods, a 
leather strap or two, some stout cord, a number 
of yards of cloth, and an iron tube about three 
inches long, which he discovered in a heap of old 
iron in a hardware shop. Then, when he re- 
turned, he had an interview with the tailor, and as 
he whittled and sewed away in his own room, so 
much whistling came from the little study that the 
guard threatened to report him if he did not stop. 
In the early dusk, Harry slipped out unobserved 
from the building with his skates in his overcoat- 
pocket and a prodigiously long bundle under his 
arm, while in his hand he carried a little lantern. 
Shortly afterward a light might have been seen 
careering along the shore of the lake, waving 
wildly as though swung from the top of a pole. 
Then a gust of wind blew it out. Soon after 
Harry returned, but his bundle he had left behind. 

It was Thanksgiving morning. Down the lake 
the wind came whistling clear and cold, wafting 
the odors of many a roasting turkey from the 
kitchen chimneys along the shore. The ice was 
many inches thick, and scores of skaters, in dark- 
blue uniforms, were cutting figures of all sorts 
upon the glassy surface. The whole Institute was 
out in force, and even the principal was gliding by 
with long and stately strokes, answering the many 
respectful salutations with a pleasant smile and 
Idow, and quietly indulging in a laugh at the gyra- 
tions of the little Doctor, who was performing 
strange " podographic " feats. 

Dane was there, vainly looking around for 
Harry, who had vanished some time before most 

Far down the lake a white sail shot out from be- 
hind a headland and went skimming along diago- 
nally across the wide expanse, swifter than the 
wind itself which drove it. They could see the 
sail bend before the blast as the flaws came, and 
then straighten up as springily as a sapling when 
the gusts had spent their force. 

"An ice-boat! — an ice-boat!" and all eyes 
were directed toward it. 

" Funny kind of ice-boat, I should say," said 
Rankin, who was experienced in such matters. 
" See how stiff she stands up to it. If it had been 
an ice-boat of any kind that I know of, she would 
be lying down from the wind ; but see there ! — 
the thing is actually leaning against the wind." 

It was, indeed, acting in a manner quite foreign 
to well-bred winter-yachts ; and although looking 
with all their eyes they could see no semblance of 




a hull ; yet it certainly was not far enough away 
to be " hull-down," although the smallness of the 
sail had given the impression that it was at a greater 
distance than it was in fact. 

Suddenly it tacked sharply, to avoid running 
ashore, and the skipper laid his course back across 
tlic lake almost directly toward the gazing skaters. 
They could see one figure standing by the mast, 
grasping it with one hand ; but if there was any 
helmsman he was hidden by the sail. The flag at 
the end of the long lateen yard streamed out gayly, 
a thin, scarlet streamer; and now and again a 
white streak flashed for an instant as the steel 
shaved up a feathery flake of ice when the swift 
craft yawed under the unsteady breeze, and the 
spectators fancied that they could hear the ringing 
hiss of the polished blades beneath. 

The ice gave a great crack as the craft glided on, 
and the sound went booming up and down the lake 
for miles and miles, echoing from shore to shore 
like a martial salute from the rocky fortresses of 
winter to the flag-ship of some foreign squadron. 

Dane brought his hand down upon his thigh 
with a slap. 

" As I live, it is Harry Wylie ! " 

The next moment, with a rush, the craft flashed 
by them and the flakes flew like foam, as it rounded 
to and shot up into the wind's eye for a moment, 
and then, gathering sternway, came rapidly down 
toward them. 

" Of course ! I ought to have known," said Ran- 
kin, who was a New Yorker, a little mortified that 
he had not solved the mystery. " But who would 
have expected to see a skate-sail up here, and of 
such a strange pattern as that ? " 

" What 's a skate-sail?" asked Dane, as he and 
Rankin joined the crowd around Harry, foremost 
among whom were the professors. 

"Why, you see, it 's an ice-boat, of which a 
fellow's own skates are the runners ! Just a sail, 
held up before the wind ; only this is an odd kind 
that 1 never saw before." 

The crowd looked on admiringly while Harry 
explained his device. He had strapped to his foot 
the iron tube which he bought, and in this was 
stepped a short mast, of cane, about six feet high ; 
at right angles to this and just above his ankle a 
long boom swung horizontally, while from the for- 
ward end of the boom another ran backward at an 
acute angle, crossing the mast at about the height 
of his shoulder, and extending back until the area 
of sail at that side of the mast was about equal to 
the area on the other side. This made a large 
triangle, with one side parallel to the ice ; and a 
short rod was loosely attached at one end to the 
forward angle, the other end being held in the hand. 

" You see, I can hook my arm around the mast," 

said Harry, explaining it, "and lean back against 
the wind, keeping the nose of the sail steady with 
the rod; and if it blows too hard, 1 slide down at 
arms-length and lean hard, keeping my other foot 
well under me, so that if the wind drops suddenly 
I shall keep right side up. I might have rigged 
a reef that could be adjusted while under sail, if I 
had cared to have it." 

" How ? " asked one of the boys, who was deeply 

" By using, above this yard, another lateen, slid- 
ing up and down the mast ; to reef, all that one 
would have to do would be to drop the other yard 
down, letting the baggy sail fall outside of the 
second lateen. It would be heavy, though, and 
rather awkward to manage." 

"It strikes me that it is not easy to go before 
the wind, as you have rigged your sail, Wylie " ; 
the objection came in the clear voice of the prin- 
cipal across the crowded heads. 

" It is n't easy, sir," said Harry, frankly. " It 
would be if I had fastened the socket further for- 
ward on my foot instead of at the instep, but I 
could not make it secure there using only what I 
had to work with, and it matters the less since it is 
swiftest on the wind." 

But to the boys it seemed perfection, and half a 
dozen of the more knowing drew out from the 
rest and instituted a headlong chase along shore 
toward the village, each straining every nerve 
to be the first at the fishing-tackle dealer's, 
lest he should find that the most available canes 
had been sold before his arrival. Holiday though 
it was, before night a dozen sails were skimming 
across the ice in every direction, and an impromptu 
race was arranged at a moment's notice. It was a 
fine sight to see the white sails bending, one after 
another, before the blast, then rising, like reeds, 
when the gust lessened in force, and shooting past 
each other as now one, now another, obtained an 
advantage. Lieutenant Rankin was the winner 
by a long distance, as he was an experienced 
yachtsman, and found it easy to adapt his nautical 
knowledge to the changed circumstances. Harry 
Wylie was next, with Mitchell a close third, — so 
close that at one time he nearly succeeded in being 

Chapter X. 

It required some little patience among the boys 
at the Institute to enable them to exist contentedly 
for the next week. Skate-sailing was the prevailing 
craze, and yet time was wanting to enable them 
to gratify it. But there were compensations — 
symptoms that the long, mysterious planning and 
preparation were about to come to an end. The 



workmen had finished their work at the drill-hall 
and had departed. Two great sails hung in heavy 
folds, one at each end of the hall ; a second canvas 
having been hung after the General had sent for 
and apparently consulted 
with Lieutenant Wylie 
(who seemed to be "want- 
ed " rather often in these 
days). A long timber, 
with two-inch auger-holes 
bored at intervals through 
it, was laid across the hall, 
some six feet from the 
curtain, holes uppermost; 
and a similar beam also 
encumbered the floor at 
the other end of the hall. 
They caused much spec- 
ulation, but in no wise 
assisted in solving the 
problem ; nor did the next 
public proceeding add to 
the enlightenment of the 
students. Harry had su- 
perintended the manufact- 
ure of a series of pulleys 
attached to the wall ; 
through these he rove 
cords with handles at one 
end, and a series of de- 
tachable weights at the 
other,— such contrivances 
as are common in all gym- 
nasiums now, but they 
were new to the Institute 
boys. Then for days, dur- 
ing drill-hours, student 
after student was sum- 
moned to one of these 
pulleys and made to pull 
the handle out from the 
wall with one hand, draw- 
ing it across the chest ; 
and weights were added 
by degrees until the maxi- 
mum of effort had been attained, — all of which was 
duly entered, in pounds avoirdupois, upon the pages 
of a ledger-like volume which the Doctor never al- 
lowed out of his sight for a moment. In other columns 
were entered the height of the student, length of 
arms, and girth of arms and chest, as well as a 
number of other personal statistics of similar im- 
port, until every student in the Institute had been 
thus carefully examined and put on record ; after 
which Harry and the Doctor seemed to have a 
vast amount of figuring to carry through, which 
apparently was not connected with any of the 

branches of mathematics upon the class list, since 
it was never referred to in recitation. Dane de- 
clared, laughingly, that it was all a humbug, 
and that in his opinion the work had been 



copied bodily from the pages of Colburn's Arith- 

Whatever it was, however, it came to an end at 
last, to Harry's great relief; and the results were 
carefully tabulated and sent in to the principal. 

Then the inevitable four-horse team from the 
factory crossed the lake upon the ice, laden as 
before with broom-handles, which were duly un- 
loaded, carried within, and set up in the auger- 
holes in the timbers previously mentioned, until 
the poles extended entirely across each end of the 
hall at intervals of about six feet. They looked 




like a miniature telegraph line ready for the wire, 
or like a Brobdingnagian comb. 

" I vow ! " declared Dane, when he saw this, " I 
was right after all. ' O my prophetic soul ! ' we 
are to have the cockshys, sure ! " 

"But what have the stakes to do with them?" 
asked a skeptical student, who declined to accept 
the hypothesis so confidently advanced. 

" Why, to put the teacups on, to be sure ; won't 
we just raise the price of crockery, though ! " 

" But 1 don't see what all that measuring has to 
do with it," continued the doubter, laughing, "and 
the Doctor is n't the man to cipher for two weeks 
just for the fun of it ! " 

"Oh, the measuring!" said Dane, a little less 
confidently. "I had forgotten about that. Per- 
haps — -the General wanted to know who could 
hit the hardest, and smash the most china." 

But his theory, ingenious though it was, failed 
to win adherents. Harry declined even to hear 
his friend's argument — to the effect that he knew 
more about the game than the lieutenant and 
therefore was a proper person to be called to the 
General's assistance — and was thereby nearly pro- 
voked into betraying the whole matter. The boys 
present pricked up their ears and were all attention, 
when he suddenly bethought himself, cried, " You 
are a set of humbugs, all of you ! " and darted away 
to liis room at full speed, tingling in every nerve 
as he thought of his narrow escape. He resolved 
to give Master Dane a highly moral lecture on the 
duties of friendship when next they met. 

At high noon on the same day, however, a dray 
quietly entered the grounds directly from the rail- 
road station, heavily laden with long parcels most 
carefully protected by many wrappers and handled 
by the man in charge as gingerly as though they 
had been dynamite cartridges. The boys were at 
dinner, and only the principal was at the drill-hall. 
The packages were carried within and stored in a 
dark room, Mr. Richards assisting. The dray de- 
parted, and no one was the wiser. 

It was quarter-staff day, and the boys were apt 
to be on hand even before the hour for drill, to 
snatch a moment for polishing and oiling their 
staves ; they were particularly proud of them, and 
vied with each other in bringing out the rich color 
in the greatest perfection. These now presented 
an appearance very different from that of the 
tallow-hued sticks with which the students had first 
been armed, and, in spite of their inherent tough- 
ness, the staves bore many a dent. 

Company D, having just finished their fencing 
bout, stood at rest with folded arms, in their proper 
places on one side of a hollow square, with staves 
leaning against their shoulders, and still wear- 
ing helmets, when the General appeared upon 

the platform which ran along the room behind 

" Attention — Battalion ! " 

Every boy in the battalion straightened up in- 
stantly, and brought his staff to the shoulder, 
and officers who had been conversing with their 
friends hastily returned to their proper positions. 

" Company D, about — face ! " 

Around spun the helmets like animated tops, 
and the General then looked down upon a line of 
wire-gauze faces, instead of ochre-hued heads. 

" Company C, right wheel — march ! " 

With the student at the extreme end of the line 
and nearest to the platform, as a pivot, the line 
swept around without a waver, just clearing the 
boys of Company B, who had faced them upon 
the opposite side of the square, and who had been 
marched backward a few paces to make room. 

"Company B, forward — march!" and it re- 
turned to its former position. 

" Left wheel — march ! " and as the other com- 
pany had done, they, too, swung around and fell 
into line behind it. 

"Company A, forward — march!" and that 
company moved forward toward the General and 
halted behind Company B. Thus the companies 
stood, with the shorter boys at the front and the 
tall forms of Company A bringing up the rear. 

The General stepped aside, and Mr. Richards 
came forward slowly, with his hands behind him. 

" Parade — rest ! " The battalion stood at ease. 

"Boys, the time has come when I can explain 
my plan for your physical improvement, and I wish 
to thank you for the patience with which you have 
borne the many and unexpected delays. It has 
proved more expensive than I had at first sup- 
posed, but if I can send you out from the Institute 
with strong, well-trained bodies and equally well- 
trained minds, I shall regret no outlay. 

"As you are aware, the Greeks of old placed 
a well-developed set of muscles upon a some- 
what higher plane than an equally well-equipped 
brain ; for the highest prize in the land was the 
crown of wild olive bestowed upon the winner of 
the Olympic games. It was before the age of gun- 
powder, — before the personal prowess of the war- 
rior had given way to the tactic and skill of the 
general. But the winners of the games are forgot- 
ten. Their very names are scarcely known to us ; 
while the men who relied upon intellect for their 
fame have sent their names ringing down the ages, 
and made their time the golden age of Greece. 

" Yet the Olympian festivals were, in another 
way, of incalculable benefit to all the nation ; for 
they stimulated to the highest degree that regard 
for physical exercise which brings the body near- 
est to perfection, and gave strong frames to men 




who knew their value ; who knew that the man 
who would wield that mighty engine, the human 
intellect, and make it do all that it is capable of 
doing, must possess a frame commensurate to the 
strain. Otherwise, he some day might overtax 
its endurance and thus wreck it utterly. As you 
are aware, it has been my ambition to send you 
from me out into the world prepared, not merely 
to pass examinations, but to work. I have endeav- 
ored to give you the best preparation for accom- 
plishing that work, which is known to modern 
progress. What 1 now have prepared for you is 
an innovation in educational methods ; and it rests 
with you whether it shall be a success or a failure. 
If it succeeds, as I confidently believe it will, you will 
find its good eff'ects following you throughout life. 

"I will now let Lieutenant Wylie explain the 
plan ; he is thoroughly conversant with it in all of 
its details, and, moreover, is one of yourselves." 

The principal ceased. During his brief speech 
the students had been very quiet, — so silent that 
not a muscle moved among them all, lest they 
might fail to catch some important word. But when 
he ceased, and Harry Wylie, at a sign from the 
General, mounted the platform and came forward 
rather diffidently, a stir began, irrepressible, in- 
creasing, until at last the ends of the staves dropped 
to the floor with a sharp rattle, and a volley of 
hand-clapping burst from the ranks like the sound 
of many waters. 

It was hard for Harry. He was never much of 
an orator, and nothing but his earnestness of pur- 
pose saved him from utter failure. As it was, 
although the color rose in his face, he resolutely 
put everything out of mind save the one thing for 
which he was there. 

" Boys, how many of you have ever belonged to 
archery clubs ? " was his first, seemingly irrelevant, 
question. Fifteen or twenty of Company A raised 
their staves to right shoulder shift, in indica- 
tion of assent, according to the custom at the 
Institute, and here and there among the rest 
there were others. Harry's face lighted up with 
surprised satisfaction at the number. Stepping 
quickly back to the door of the store-room he 
vanished for a second, and as quickly returned, 
bringing in his hand a long bow, made of sassafras 
wood. "The problem has been, boys, to unite 
the advantages of a gymnasium with the habit of 
obedience and the discipline of our present mili- 
tary drill. This " — holding up the bow — " is the 
means of obtaining that result. Every time that 
you draw this to the head of a twenty-eight-inch 
arrow you expand the chest, bring into play the 
muscles of both arms and shoulders, straighten the 
back, strengthen the legs, and accustom the eye 

( To be a 

to look at things at a distance, thus counteract- 
ing at once nearly all the unhealthful tendencies of 
student life. It will make us strong and straight, 
and will prevent our becoming near-sighted. You 
have wondered what all this measuring has been 
for, — and some of you have nearly badgered the 
life out of me to find out ! " 

A low laugh rippled through the ranks at this 
boyish remark. 

" Every bow is a certain number of pounds in 
weight. That is, it requires so many pounds to 
draw it twenty-eight inches, and the measuring 
was to ascertain what weight each student needed 
to develop his muscles without injuring them; 
for too strong a bow would strain, rather than 

Harry then went through with the movements 
of a manual of arms which the General had de- 
vised ; while that officer gave the words of com- 
mand, and the boys looked on with most eager 
attention. Then those who had been archers were 
ordered upon the platform, and put through the 
same manual ; which, as they understood the rea- 
son for every motion, was an easy task. Each had 
been supplied with a bow from the store-room, 
according to a number opposite his name, which the 
Doctor read from the ledger ; and each was re- 
quired to write his initials upon a little tag that 
hung with the tassel at the end of the bow-string. 
When these had been fairly perfected in everything 
save the actual use of the arrow (which was not as yet 
to be intrusted to them) the battalion was broken 
up into squads which were placed under temporary 
command of the more experienced archers for 
instruction ; while Harry kept a careful watch over 
all, with the General's assistance, and corrected 
whatever mistakes came under his notice. When 
the gong rang for the suspension of drill, there was 
a universal petition that for this once they might 
continue a little longer. The General declined to 
assent, and made them hang up their bows, incased 
in flannel bags, from hooks within the store-room. 
Habits of discipline were not to be trifled with. 
But when they had departed he said to the prin- 
cipal, who was looking on with much satisfaction : 

" This settles it, Mr. Richards. I believe in the 
new drill, heart and soul, and will make those boys 
the sturdiest specimens of young humanity that 
ever went out from this school. The days of the 
musket are over. I only hope that the world will 
not look on the innovation with its usual suspicion 
until we have time to show results ! " 

" It 's only a new application of an old remedy, 
General," and Mr. Richards laughed quietly to 
himself "When I was a boy, sassafras shoots 
were considered good for me ! " 



By Louise Chandler Moulton. 

On Tuesday, March 6th, a loss, which will be 
very widely deplored, befell the world of readers 
in the death of Wiss Louisa May Alcott, at the 
comparatively early age of fifty-five. Her father, 
crowned with years and with honor, had died three 

days before, at the age of eighty-eight; and it 
seemed reasonable to hope for a long life for the 
daughter who had inherited so many of his gifts, 
and added to them an affluent and powerful 
originality. But as if these two — who had been 
so closely united here for more than half a cen- 
tury — could not long be parted, even by death, 
the strong, pure soul of the daughter went forth — 
on the very day on which her father was carried 
to the grave — to join him somewhere in that 
other world in which his faith was so absolute and 
so unwavering. 

There is material for a volume in this life which 
I must sketch for you so briefly that I can give 
you only its merest outline ; yet even an outline 
may show you how full it was of noble endeavor 
and noble achievement. Miss Alcott had the 
supreme good fortune to be descended, on both 
sides, from high-minded. God-fearing men and 
women, with keen intellectual instincts. Her 
father, Amos Bronson Alcott, was born in Wolcott, 
Connecticut, just at the end of the last century. 
His early life was full of experiments. Clock- 
maker, peddler, divinity student, school-teacher, 

— all these, before he became the serene phi- 
losopher of whom Emerson wrote to Carlyle as 
"a majestic soul, with whom conversation is 

In 1830 he married Miss Abby May, a descendant 
of the Sewells and the Quincys of Boston, who 
loved him well enough to give up, for his sake, the 
substantial prosperity of her father's house, and 
enter with him on a life which was destined to be 
a very hard struggle indeed, until that glad day 
when the splendid and phenomenal success of their 
daughter Louisa turned poverty out-of-doors for- 
ever. These improvident, unworldly lovers were 
married in May ; and in the November of the 
same year they removed to Germantown, Pa. ; 
and it was in Germantown, on November 29, 
1832, that Louisa May Alcott was born. Con- 
cerning this date she once wrote me : " The 
same day was my father's own birthday, that of 
Christopher Columbus, Sir Philip Sidney, Wendell 
Phillips, and other worthies." 

In 1834 the Alcotts removed from Germantown 
to Boston, where Mr. Alcott opened a very remark- 
able school. Miss Elizabeth Peabody afterward 
described it in her book, entitled " Record of 
Mr. Alcott's School." One of Mr. Alcott's meth- 
ods was to cause those who had failed in their 
duties to punish him, instead of to be punished by 
him ; and one of his theories — the one which led 
to the final disruption of his school — was that a 
colored boy is as well worth teaching, and as much 
entitled to instruction, as a white boy. 

In 1839 Mr. Alcott finally abandoned school- 
teaching; and in 1840 the family removed to 
Concord, Mass., where, with the exception of two 
brief experimental sojourns elsewhere, they con- 
tinued to reside until within the last two or three 
years, much of which has been passed in Boston. 

I like to think of busy little Louisa, — eight years 
old when she was taken to Concord. She was 
full of glad, physical life. She used to run in the 
fields, tossing her head like a colt, for the pure 
pleasure of it. She tasted thoroughly the joy of 
mere bodily existence ; but she was full, also, of 
the keenest intellectual activity and interest. She 
made, at eight, her first literary essay, in the form 
of an " Address to a Robin," which her proud 



mother long preserved with tender care ; and from 
that she went on rhyming about dead butterflies, 
lost kittens, the baby's eyes, and other kindred 
themes, until, suddenly, the story-teller's passion 
set in, and the world began to be peopled for her 
with ideal shapes, and soon she began to write out 
these tales in little paper-covered volumes, which 
gradually formed quite a manuscript library in 
" the children's room." 

When Miss Alcott was sixteen, she wrote — for 
Ellen Emerson's pleasure — her first real book. 
It was entitled " Flower Fables," and was after- 
ward published, though not until 1854, when the 
author was twenty-two. It was too florid, and too 
full of adjectives, and it made no real impression. 
At sixteen, besides writing this book, Miss Alcott 
began to teach school, — an employment she 
never liked, though she pursued it, in one form 
or another, for some fifteen years. Her first full- 
grown romantic story was published when she was 
nineteen, in " Gleason's Pictorial," and brought 
her the sum of five dollars, — the sufficiently small 
and humble nest-egg of the fortune which had 
amounted, before her death, to more than a hun- 
dred thousand. The next year she wrote a story, 
for which she received ten dollars; and this she her- 
self dramatized, and it was accepted by the mana- 
ger of the Boston theater, though, owing to some 
disagreement among the actors, it was not put 
upon the stage. 

One November day — November seems to have 
been an important month in her life — she went 
away by herself to Boston, and had there the 
experiences which she afterward wove into her 
book entitled " Work." The real story was 
quite as pathetic as the romance. She had a 
trunk — " a little trunk," she told me, filled with 
the plainest clothes of her own making — and twenty 
dollars that she had earned by writing. These 
were her all, — no, not her all, for she had firm 
principles, perfect health, and the dear Concord 
home to retreat to in case of failure. But she 
did not fail. By teaching, sewing, writing, — any- 
thing that came to hand to be done, — she not only 
supported herself during the long, toilsome years 
before any grand, paying success chanced to her, 
but sent home ever-increasing help to the dear 
ones left behind. Ah, what a beautiful life it 
was — lived always, from first to last, for others, 
and not for herself! 

There was one break in those busy, unselfish 
years which witnessed a devotion more unselfish 
still. In the December of 1862 she went forth, 
full of enthusiasm, to nurse in the Soldiers' Hos- 
pital ; blessing scores of dying beds with her bright 
presence, and laboring unweariedly until she her- 
self was stricken down with fever. " I was never 

Vol. XV.— 40. 

ill," she once said to me, " until after that hospital 
experience, and I have never been well since." 

" Hospital Sketches" was first published in 1865, 
but was republished with considerable additions 
in 1869. Even before " Hospital Sketches," 
" Moods " had been issued by Loring ; and that also 
was subsequently reprinted, with much revision. 
In 1865, Miss Alcott first went to Europe, as the 
companion of an invalid lady. She was gone 
nearly a year, made many desirable accjuaintances, 
and greatly enlarged her outlook on life. 

In 1868 — twenty years ago — Roberts Brothers, 
of Boston, became Miss Alcott's publishers ; and 
it was at the suggestion of Mr. Niles, of this firm, 
that she wrote " Little Women," — a story founded 
on the home life of herself and her sisters. The 
first part of this story was published in the Oc- 
tober of 186S, and was cordially received; but it 
was not until the issue of the second part, in the 
April of 1869, that the world went wild about it, 
and all in a moment, as it seemed, Miss Alcott 
became famous. Since then she has known noth- 
ing but success ; and now, the summons of the 
King has called her to come up higher. 

' ' Little Women " took such hold upon the world, 


that when " Little Men " was issued its publication 
had to be delayed until the publishers could be 
prepared to fill advance orders for fifty thousand 
copies. The list of her works, besides " Flower 
Fables," "Moods," and " Hospital Sketches," in- 
cludes twenty-two volumes, — twenty-five books in 
all, — and all, save " Flower Fables," bear .the im- 
print of Roberts Brothers, who publish not only 
the juveniles, but the revised editions of " Moods " 
and "Hospital Sketches." I must not omit a 



twenty-sixth book, sent forth to the world anony- 
mously, "A Modern Mephistopheles," a novel 
included in the ''No Name" series of her 

Nearly all of her later books — '"Eight Cousins," 
"Under the Lilacs," " Spinning-Wheel Stories," 
etc. — first appeared in the pages of St. Nicholas ; 
and hundreds of letters to the editor, from children 
all over the English-speaking world, attest their 
dear love for the author of these charming tales. 

In writing to the editor of St. NICHOLAS, just 
before Christmns, Miss Alcott asked for the bound 
volumes of last year, and added, " My Lulu adores 
the dear books, and has worn out the old ones." 

The " Lulu " thus alluded to was Louisa May 
Nieriker, the daughter of Miss Alcott's beloved 
sister May, who was married in Paris in 1878, and 
died there in 1879, leaving her newborn baby 
to the care of her sister Louisa, whose dearest 
treasure the little one has ever since been. To 
lose this so tender care, — ah, what an irreparable 
misfortune it is to the bright young life ! 

While Miss Alcott was engaged on "Jack and 
Jill," she wrote to the editor of this magazine : 

"Don't let me prose. If I seem to be declining and falling into 
it, pull me up, and I '11 try to prance as of old. Years tone down 
one's spirit and fancy, though they only deepen one's love for the 
little people, and strengthen the desire to serve them wisely as well 
as cheerfully. Fathers and mothers tell me they use my books as 
helps for themselves ; so now and then I have to slip in a page for 
them, fresh from the experience of some other parent, for education 
seems to me to be the problem in our times. 

" 'Jack and Jill ' are right out of our own little circle, and the 
boys and girls are in a twitter to know what is going in : so it will 
be *a truly story ' in the main." 

And in another letter to the editor of St. Nicho- 
las, Miss Alcott wrote : 

" If I do begin a new story, how would ' An Old Fashioned Boy ' 
and his life do ■ 
You proposed a re\ olutionary tale once, but I was 
not up to it. For this I have quaint material in my fathet's journals, 
letters, and recollections. He was born with the centtiry, and had 
an uncle in the war of 1812, and his life was very pretty and pastoral 
in the early days. I think a new sort of story would n't be amiss, 
with fun in it, and the queer old names and habits. I began it long 
ago, and if I have a chance, will finish off a few chapters and send 
them to you." 

How many plans that would have borne fruit 
for the world's good and pleasure died with this 
good and true woman when she died ! The last 
years of her life have been fuller of care and anxiety 
than of literary work. 

In 1882, Miss Alcott's father was stricken with 
paralysis, and of her devotion to him since then it 
would be impossible to speak too strongly. His 
life has been a placid and not unhappy one, in 
these years of failing strength ; and he died peace- 
fully on Sunday, March 4th, at the house of his 
only other daughter, Mrs. Pratt, in Louisburg 
Square, Boston. Only the Thursday before his 

death Miss Alcott went to see him. He could not 
speak. " What are you thinking of, Father? " said 
the dear, well-known voice, which still had power 
to call the light into his eyes, and a faint smile to 
his speechless lips. He looked up toward heaven, 
with a little gesture, by which his daughter under- 
stood that his thoughts were already gone before 
him, to the far world where the blest abide. " Great 
Expecter ! " Thoreau once called him ; — he has 
followed Thoreau, now beyond our vision, into the 
world of fulfilled expectations. 

Miss Alcott was not with him at the last. It is, 
perhaps, a year and a half since she came to see 
me, one day, and spoke of her sufferings from some- 
thing she then called " writer's cramp," but which 
is now supposed to have been the beginning of 
paralysis. She broke down completely nearly a 
year ago, and placed herself under the care of Dr. 
Lawrence, of Roxbury, with whom she has since 
then resided. 

A week before she died she wrote to a friend : 
'• You shall come and see me as soon as the doc- 
tor will permit. Don't be anxious about me. I 
shall come out a gay old butterfly in the spring." 
And the very Saturday afternoon before she died 
she wrote to a dear old friend : "I am told that 
I must spend another year in this ' Saints' Rest,' 
and then I am promised twenty years of health. 
I don't want so many, and I have no idea I shall 
see them. Hut as I don't hve for myself, I will 
live on for others." Farther on, in the same let- 
ter, she referred to her father's impending death, 
and added: "1 shall be glad when the dear old 
man falls asleep, after his long and innocent life. 
Sorrow has no place at such a time, when Death 
comes in the likeness of a friend." 

Very soon after these words were written came 
the attack which was to end all for her. She was 
never once conscious after it had seized on her. 
As one who falls asleep, she went out of this life, 
having lingered, unconscious, upon death's thresh- 
old, from Saturday night till the early dawn of 
Tuesday morning. Had not Death come as a 
friend, even to her, so loved, and missed, and 
mourned for, — Death, who led her on, past fear, 
past pain, past sorrow, past hope and dream, into 
the eternal light, where her mother waited for 
her ; where was Beth, the loved, lost sister of her 
childhood ; and May, the dearest companion of 
her maturer years; — where even he, their long 
survivor, " the dear old man," who had lived in 
Eternity, while yet he lingered on the shore of 
Time — had gone before her. Fond sister, loving 
nephews, and little Lulu, dear darling of her last 
busy years ; — friends, seen and unseen — ah, how 
they all will miss her; but she — can she miss 
anything who has found the very rest of God? 



Words by Mary J. Jacques. 

.Wot/era io 

Music by T. C. H. 





sweet as the clo - ver, Crimp - ing with fin - gers and pat - ting with palms. 


Rolling it, rocking it, turning it over, 

Pinching with fingers and pushing with palms ; 

Light as a feather and sweet as the clover, 

Puffing and springing 'neath fingers and palms. 


Turning it, rocking it, rolling together ; 

Cutting it, moulding it, fingers and palms ; 
Sweet as the clover and light as a feather. 

Into the pan with it, fingers and palms. 


By Eudora S. Bumstead. 

Here we go to the branches 

Here we come to the 

grasses low ! 
For the spiders and flowers 

and birds and I 
Love to swing when the 

breezes blow. 
Swing, little bird, on the 
topmost bough ; 
Swing, little spider, with rope so fine ; 
Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now ; 
But none of you have such a swing as mine. 

Dear little bird, come sit on my toes ; 

I 'm just as careful as I can be ; 
And oh, I tell you, nobody knows 

What fun we 'd have if you 'd play with me ! 
Come and swing with me, birdie dear, 

Bright little flower, come swing in my hair; 

But you, little spider, creepy and queer, — 
You 'd better stay and swing over there ! 

The sweet little bird, he sings and sings. 

But he does n't even look in my face; 
The bright little blossom swings and swings. 

But still it swings in the self-same place. 
Let them stay where they like it best ; 

Let them do what they 'd rather do ; 
My swing is nicer than all the rest, 

But maybe it 's rather small for two. 

Here we go to the branches high ! 

Here we come to the grasses low ! 
For the spiders and flowers and birds and I 

Love to swing when the breezes blow. 
Swing, little bird, on the topmost bough ; 

Swing, little spider, with rope so fine ; 
Swing, little flower, for the wind blows now ; 

But none of you have such a swing as mine. 


By De W. C. Lockwood, 

Have you ever seen a tailor sitting on a bench 
in his shop ? Because, if you have n't, just peep 
through the window of the first tailor's shop you 
pass, and take a good look at the man inside. He 
will not mind your looking at him, if you don't 
stay too long, and I want you to know just how 
Tim looked one morning as he sat on the floor. 
Not that Tim was a tailor, — for he was nothing at 
all but a boy, — yet he sat there just like a tailor, 
with his little legs curled up under him, and he 
was trying to draw a horse. 

He began with the horse's head, drawing in the 
nose, ears, eyes (that is, one eye), the mouth, and 
last the teeth. Tim took great pains with the 
teeth, and put in as many as he could. 

It was some time before the head was 
done ; and Tim was about to go on with 
the rest of the body when his grand- 
father, who was mending the garden 
gate, called out : 

" Tim, my little man, run up to the 
barn and bring me the big hammer." 

Tim was sorry to leave his work, but he was a 
good boy, and also he liked to have his grandfather 
call him his " little man." 

The " little man " did the errand in such a 
hurry that he was nearly out of breath when he 
reached the house, but was soon hard at work 

The horse's fore-feet did not give Tim much 
trouble because he had made up his mind precisely 
how he was going to draw them. 

Tim once saw a circus-horse dance to the tune 
of " Yankee Doodle," and he remembered exactly 
how the horse put one leg straight out before him 
while he curved up the other in a very graceful 
way. So Tim drew the fore-legs just like those of 
the dancing horse. At this point 
the boy heard a great noise 
among the chickens in the barn- 
yard, and he knew at once that 
Rover had broken loose and was 
chasing the fowls all over the 
yard. So he threw down his 
paper and pencil and rushed out. 

As soon as the big dog caught sight of the little 
man, he walked back to his house very meekly, as 

if he was not at all glad to see his young mas- 
ter. But the chickens were very glad, indeed. 

Tim tied Rover up again, and once more went 
back to his task. 

For a long time, in fact for nearly a year, he had 
had an idea that the back of the horse might be 
made more convenient for riding without a saddle, 
and that there would be less danger of falling off if 
the back were cur\'ed in more ; and, although he 
did not know just how to bring about this much- 
needed change in the shape of the living horses he 
had seen, he drew the back of the pictured horse 
as he thought the back of a horse should be made. 
Suddenly there was a loud ring from the front-door 
bell. The boy knew that Sarah, the maid, was 
out in the wash-house and that his mother was 
busy upstairs, so he laid aside his work and went 
to the front-door. 

The visitor proved to be an old man who wanted 
to know whether " Mr. Jones" lived there? 

Now, Tim did not know any one of that name, 
but, as he wanted to help the stranger all he could, 
he told him that a young friend of his who lived on 
the corner of the first street below had a cousin who 
knew some one of the name of Jones. Then the 
man thanked him, and the little fellow trotted back 
to his place on the floor. 

Like a great many other boys, Tim was fond of 
horses with long tails, and he liked to see them 
spread out as they are when horses are leaping. 
Tim drew the tail as he liked to see it ; then he 
made the two hind-legs, and after putting in some 
grass for the horse to eat, so that he should not be 
hungry, the picture was complete. Tim held the 
picture up before him and did n't seem to think it 
the least bit strange that the horse should be nib- 
bling grass while his fore-feet were dancing and 
the other two going over a fence ! He was quite 
sure, though, that he could have made a much 
better horse if he had n't been called away so 
many times, and he felt very sorry about it. I 
think the horse looked sorry too. 

A few moments later Tim carried the picture 
out-of-doors to show to his grandfather, who was 
still at work on the gate. The good old man laid 
down his hammer on the ground and looked the 
picture over with a great deal of care ; he did n't 



laugh, as many people would; and this is a very 
good thing about grandfathers — they seldom make 
fun of little boys, but help them when they can. 


Tim told him what trouble he had to finish the 
drawing, and then his grandfather said : 

" Well, my little man, there is one thing about 

it, you did n't in-ter-rupi yourself " — that was 
the very word he used. "It was not your fault 
that you could n't finish the drawing all at one 
time, and I am very glad that you did n't put 
down your paper and pencil to play with your 
tool-box or express wagon, or to run out for a 
frolic with Rover, but that you did your best 
to finish the picture before taking up anything 

Then Tim's grandfather again took up his ham- 
mer, while the little artist walked slowly back to 
the house with the picture held out before him. 

"Anyway," said Tim, as he thought of his 
grandfather's words, " I did n't in-ter-rupt myself! " 

And this thought was a great comfort to him. 


This is no fancy picture. It is taken from a 
photograph of a real cat and her adopted family 
of chickens. 

The lady who made the photograph, and kindly 
sent it to St. Nicholas, tells this story in an 
accompanying letter : 

"The owner of our good-hearted puss raised a 
great many chickens ; and out of each brood of 
fifteen or twenty, when but a few days old, several 

were quite likely to be weakl}-, and not able to 
follow the old hen around ^^•ith the rest of the brood. 

" These weak little chicks, therefore, were carried 
into the house, and put with the cat on her cushion 
by the fire. Though at first somewhat surprised, 
she soon cuddled them up and purred over them 
with apparent pleasure and pride ; and when she 
had looked after them for a day or two, she did 
not take at all kindly to their removal." 






I CANT see the coming June in your bright young 
faces, my friends, and with all my best joy I wel- 
come her. What would this world be without 
June — the rosiest, sweetest month of all the twelve ! 
And do you notice how wistfully May lingers, as if 
longing to stay awhile with her ! And June always 
seems to come in saying, " Don't go, May. There 
is room for both of us." 

This reminds me that spring fashions are not 
yet quite out of date. Here they are — the very 
latest, as reported by your faithful J. M. L. : 


They say bright red and purple will be the "latest 

And worn by all the tulips in garden-beds this 

The hyacinths and crocuses prefer much paler 
shades ; 

The daffodils wear yellow — the color seldom fades. 

Of course, for small field-blooming the styles are 

not so bright. 
The daisies still continue to dress in simple white ; 
And clovers wear last season's shades — all honor 

to their pluck — 
With now and then an extra leaf to bring the finder 



Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: The Little School- 
ma'am says that her birds complain of great spiders 
that kill them, especially of the mygale. As I have 
to-day been reading about them in a delightful 
book, called "A World of Wonder," I send an 
extract for your young hearers: 

In the large tropical spiders the venom is so active that it instantly 
kills animals of much greater bulk, and is employed against birds, 

which the spider attacks on trees. The great bird-eating spider of 
South America, the *' Mygale," is the most noticeable spider of this 
class, and is dreaded by human beings as well as by the birds, its legs 
attaining nearly a foot in length. 

There are also spiders nearly as large as the fist, that sometimes 
fasten on chickens and pigeons, seizing them by the throat and kill- 
ing them instantly, at the same time drinking their blood. 

So you see the birds have a good cause for alarm. ]M. K. D. 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : The old city of 
Rouen, in France, has a pretty sight that is worth 
describing to your crowd of young folk. The 
little men and maids are fond of looking-glasses, I 
know ; but I doubt if they all have heard of the 
queer one of which I shall now tell them. Near 
the west door of the church of St. Ouen, in this city 
of Rouen, is a marble basin filled with water. It 
is so placed that the water acts as a mirror, and in 
the face of it one sees all the inside of the church. 
Look down into the water, and you see pillars, and 
the ceiling, and pictures and statuary, and nearly 
all the interior ornamentation of the building. 
The stately basin seems to take pride in holding 
its beautiful picture of the church. 1 wish you 
and all vour hearers could see it. 

Yours truly, M. E. L. 


Dear Jack : I want to tell you about a new 
kind of a mouse-trap. It is the turtle. I never 
saw one catch a mouse, but my cousin told me 
about it. 

She said they oiled its back and put it in the 
cellar where there were a great many mice. After 
a few days there did not seem to be many mice 
around ; but as she did not think the slow turtle 
could have caught them, she asked her boys to 

So one day they put a mouse in the room, and 
they sat upon a table. Pretty soon the mouse 
came up and ran upon the turtle's back, and when 
it was near the head, the turtle's head came out in 
a hurry and caught the mouse. But I don't be- 
lieve the turtle really ate the mouse ; I think it 
only squeezed the body between its shells. They 
oiled its back so that the mouse would be attracted 
by the odor. 

Yours truly, A. K. W. 


Dear Jack : Can I give you something that I 
found in a delightful book called ''Among the 
Azores " ? It is about convicted criminals in Flores, 
one of the Azores, where the law actually compels 
a prisoner to become his own Jailer ! He is given 
the keys of the establishment, and is expected to 
keep himself closely confined, but with extenua- 
ting privileges. The liberties he enjoys, his freedom 
from toil, the friends whom he admits to keep him 
company, render his prison life rather a luxury 
than otherwise. The windows of the prison are 
always inviting to gossiping loungers, and it is 
rumored that prisoners have been known even to 



take pleasant rambles through the streets of the 
city after dark. There is supposed to be a jailer 
connected with the establishment, but he has an 
easy time of it. 

'* Ridiculous as this method of punishment may at first sight ap- 
pear," the book says, " there is perhaps slight need for more rigid 
discipline. The little island, only ten mites long by seven wide, 
where everybody knows everybody else, would afford the escaped 
prisoner scant opportunity for concealment, while the visits of vessels 
are so few and uncertain that the hope of flight to foreign lands is 
equally futile Then, too, the people are far from being vicious, and 
crime is not common. The judge informed us that no murder had 
been committed for at least thirty-five years. Further back than that 
the records fail to show, but not even the tradition of such a crime 
exists. Thieving is almost unknown, and what little is discovered 
is charged upon wicked visitors from other islands. This is the 
record of a community of twelve thousand people. What wonder 
that such a state of affairs lulls the natives into a feeling of security 
which leads them to sleep at night with the doors of their houses 
standing wide open," 


Mrs. Lizzie H.atch asks me to tell you of a 
little Jersey cow of her acquaintance. This cow, 
she says, "comes and opens the gate into our 
grounds when securely latched, and then she turns 
round and shuts it tight, so that she may enjoy the 
rich clover in peace and quiet." 

"That reminds me," says the same lady, "of 
a little curly black cow my grandfather brought 
from Russia. The animal would have died of 
home-sickness if she had not formed a friendship 
with a pig, on board ship ; so Grandfather bought 
the pig, and they were comrades for a long time. 
The cow was named Bess, was very affectionate, and 
she called on the neighbors every day. She always 
knocked at their kitchen doors, and never went in 
unless she was invited. They were fond of her. 
One day Grandfather had an informal dinner-party. 
The guests insisted on having Bess; so Grand- 
father asked the man ' tending table ' to open the 
doors leading out upon the lawn, and called, ' Bess ! 
Bess ! ' Grandmother was cjuite shocked, but 
Bess soon walked in. She behaved charmingly, 
walked up to each one, put down her head for a 
pat, and walked out again." 


Dear Jack : Of course you know that snake- 
skins often are found in hedges and out-of-the-way 
places. But did you ever hear of a toad-skin being 
discovered in the same way ? I think not, and the 
reason is that although toads cast off their old 

skins they do not leave them lying about as the 
snakes do. 

One afternoon in early June, my little daughter 
called me to see a toad in the grass that was "acting 
queerly," she said ; he would keep perfectly motion- 
less for a moment, and then wriggle and shake 
and convulse himself just as a very fat person does 
when laughing heartily. Next he put both hands 
on the sides of his neck, and pulled and tugged at 
what would be the collar of his coat ; then, reach- 
ing still further up, as if to scratch his back, he took 
a good hold with both hands, stretched out his legs 
straight behind him, lay flat on his front, and pulled 
his whole skin over his head, shutting and flattening 
down his two big eyes completely. He did not put 
the skin on the ground, however, but directly into 
his mouth, and swallowed it. Then he yawned two 
or three times and brought himself together into 
his usual squatting position, seeming mightily well 
pleased to find himself in a bright spotted coat, 
tight, speckled breeches and gloves, and a wonder- 
fully snug-fitting white vest, and every article of 
them perfectly new. A. L. B. 


Who can give me correct information concern- 
ing the watch-dog battalion of the Prussian 
army? I am told that there is such a thing, and 
that the dogs are extremely capable and useful. 

By the way, there are some dogs in my neigh- 
borhood who have my full permission to go to 
Prussia and enlist. 


A FISH who was of the unfortunate sort. 
And always complaining — a habit unwise, 
Once saw a companion dart after a prize. 
Sent down by some innocent lover of sport. 

" He 's got it ! and so like my luck ! I declare. 
He shot right a-past me ! Such things are not 
fair ! " 

Sobbed the fish who had missed it — with other 

Quite common to fish-folk, from minnows to 
sharks ; 

But learning, in time, of that cruel hook, baited : 
" Ah, how providential, " he cried, " that I 
waited ! " 


By C. W. Miller. 

The game of grommet-pitching has helped peo- 
ple through many hours on shipboard, and I see 
no reason why it should not be equally pleasing 
on land. It is a great improvement on ring-toss, 
which it somewhat resembles, and it has agreea- 
ble features unknown to that game. The "grom- 
mets" are rings of rope, made by the sailors ; they 
are light and pleasant to throw, never break, and 
are very pretty when covered with bright ribbons 
or braid. They arc not difficult to make, and 
are suitable for parlor or lawn, for girls or boys, 
for old or young. 

The game may be pla) ed by tossing grommets 
of different sizes over a stake, and scoring points 
according to the size of those thrown; but a new, 
and perhaps a better way, is to toss them over 
pegs placed in a board or wall. These pegs may 
be numbered, each player counting according 
to the number of the peg on which the grommet 
catches ; or prizes may be attached to some pegs, 
and penalties to others. 

Any handy boy can make grommets, if he has 
a little rope. Let me tell you how. First decide 
upon the size of the ring you wish. Then take 
a piece of rope of the desired thickness, and about 
three and a half times as long as the circum- 
ference of the grommet you are about to make. 
Suppose you begin on a small one, say six inches in 
diameter. The circumference of this will be about 
eighteen inches, and you will need a piece of rope 
at least sixty inches long. As each grommet is 
made of only one strand, this piece will make 
three. Probably the best kind of rope for this pur- 
pose is a good manilla clothes-line which has been 
used a few weeks, so that it has become softened, 

but not worn, and 
has had all the ex- 
tra twists pulled out 
of it. 

First separate the 
piece into its three 
strands, and taking 
one in your left hand, 
bend the middle part 
of it into a ring, as 
FIG I yo'-' see in Fig. i, 

twisting it a little 
tighter as you do so. Hold the loop, or "bight," 
as sailors say, toward you and p:iss the left-hand 
end of the strand under the right-hand end. Now 
make this loop into a three-strand rope, using 

the two long ends for that purpose. To do this, 
both of them must be wound around the loop 
to take the place of the missing strands, and as 
they keep their spiral shape )ou can easily do 
this, taking one at a time, and putting it over and 
under, and always twisting tighter the end you are 
working on. When you have one strand twisted 
in, it will look like Fig. 2. 

Next take the second long 
end and work it around, 
over and under, twisting it 
tightly as you go, and mak- 
ing it lie smooth beside the 
others. Now you have an 
endless rope, smooth and 
even, except where the two 
ends meet, and here you 
have about four inches of 
each end left over. In order 
to dispose of these snugly, 
you must tie strings around 
the rope on each side, about 
an inch from the joining, to keep it in place while 
you complete your work. Now carefully cut out 
half of the rope-yarns from the under side of each 
piece, and bind the end of what remains with 
thread, to keep it from imtwisting. Perhaps it 
would be better for a beginner not to cut off these 
yarns at first, but to bend them one side till he 
has found out by one or two trials just the point 
at which to cut. 

Having done this, bend the ends around each 
other as though you were going to tie them in 
a knot ; in fact, make the first tie of a knot 
(which, )ou know, is made of two ties), draw 
it tight, and hammer it down even, working it 
smoothly into place b)' twisting the ring open at 
that point, and pounding it and working it in. It 
is impossible exactly to describe the method in 
words, but it is easily learned by trying. To 
fasten the ends, take a small spike, put it under 
a strand next to the knot, and work the end on 
that side through the opening. Then pass that 
end o\-er the next strand and under the third 
strand from the knot, making the necessary open- 
ing with the spike. Treat the other end in exactly 
the same way, and then with a sharp knife cut off 
what projects. The grommet will then look like 
Fig. 3. 

You can use the ring in its present shape, and it 
will answer every purpose of the game, but it will 



be much improved in looks by a braided covering, 
of either ribbons or worsted braid. To prepare 
the grommet for covering, wind a soft cord around 
it, in the hollows between the strands, to make it 
more round and even, 
and easier to work over. 
Take some narrow rib- 
bon and find how many 
widths of it, laid parallel 
to the rope, will about 
cover it all around. Then 
cut off twice as many 
pieces of the ribbon, and 
place them around the 
rope in the wa)- shown in 
Fig. 4, with all the upper 

FIG. 3. 

FIG. 4. 

pieces turned sharply to 
the right, and all the 
under pieces at the same 
angle to the left, and tie 
them tightly in place with 
a strong thread. You 
will probably have to do 
this by placing one pair 
on at a time, and giving 
the thread one turn 
around the rope to hold 
them. Now, if you know the kindergarten way of 
weaving colored-paper mats, the braiding will be 
very easy to you. If you are not versed in this 
art, look at the figure, and see how it is done by 
weaving the ribbons over and under ; every ribbon 
going over one and under the next. A little 
practice will make this easy. You need not be 
discouraged if your work does not look even and 
regular as you go on ; for when you have braided 
nearly to the end, you can tie another string 

around the rope to keep the ribbons in place; 
and going over the whole with a knitting-needle 
and your fingers, smooth and tighten and make 
everything even and "ship-shape." 

When the braid comes around to the place 
where it began, 
the ends may 
be fastened by 
working each 
one under one 
of the first made 
plaits, sewing it 
down, and cut- 
ting it off closely 
out of sight ; 
thus making an 
invisible ending. _i 
An easier way is 
to wind a cord 
around so as to 
hold all the ends 

firmly, and then 10 cover the joining with a ribbon 
tied in a bow on the outside. 

If you wisli a stake over which to throw the 
grommets. make a cross of two pieces of thick 
board or small timber, such as you have seen to 
hold up Christmas-trees. Bore a hole in the mid- 
dle of the cross, and fasten upright in this a piece 
of broomstick, about two feet long. The stake may 
be painted or, what is better, covered with a ribbon 
braid to match the grommets. If you prefer to use 
pegs, you can fasten common wooden hat-pegs into 
holes made in a wide board that can be set up any- 
where ; or they can be set into a close board-fence 
or wall. They should be arranged in some regular 
plan, and variously numbered or painted, or wound 
with colored ribbons, to distinguish them. 

kOB writes: ''papa, mamma and I SAIL NEXT WEEK. 


Contributors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the isth of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be 
examined at the office of Sr. Nicholas. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions 
will pleas3 postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date. 

Miss Am^lie Rives, the author of the poem/* The Butterfly's 
Cousins," in this number of St. Nicholas, sends us a few notes 
concerning the rest-harrow flower mentioned in her verses. INIiss 
Rives says: *' It is an English wild-flower, which blooms in June, 
July, and August. When it straggles into corn-fields it becomes (to use 
the words of Anna Pratt, the author of the little volumes from which 
I gathered my knowledge of the plant) a very troublesome plant, for 
its long and tough roots retard the progress of the plow, while its 
numerous and thorny branches are so great an impediment to the 
action of the harrow, as to have obtained for the plant its old English 
name. Equally old and significant is that by which it is known in 
France, where it is commonly called Arrete-Bosuf. 

" I do not know whether it grows in America or not." 

Bristol, Conn. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have read the story " Diamond-backs in 
Paradise," and 1 would like to tell you and your readers that my 
grandfather, who was stopping at the same house at the time, skinned 
the snake that Dotty saw in the path, and brought the skin home 
with him ; so that part of the story was famihar to me. 

I take the St. Nicholas this year, and enjoy it very much. 

Your loving friend, Belle M. S . 

Fergus Falls, Minn. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy eight years old. I liked 
** Sara Crewe ; or, What Happened at Miss Minchin's," ver>' much. 

I live in the north-western part of Minnesota, and it is cold and 
very stormy ; a regular blizzard here to-day. 

I have a pet cat. He used to mew to get in, but now it is cold, 
with all the doors shut, we can not hear him. So one day when I was 
in the wood-shed, playing, I heard the door-knob rattle. It was not 
a windy day, so I thought it must be some one. 1 opened the door, 
and there was the cat on a high box wanting to come in, and he 
jumped d mn and came in. He has done that ever since when he 
wants to get in the house, and we think it is bright of him. His 
name is lip ; I nameJ him that because he has a white tip on the 
end of a black tail. I like your " Letter-box" very much. 

Yours, truly, Calvin T. H , Jr. 

I did not write this. I just told what to write. 

Titl'sville, Florida. St. Nicholas : I am very fond of your lovely magazine. 
I have never seen a letter in the " Letter-box " from Indian River, 
Florida. I can see the river from our window, and it is only a min- 
ute's walk down to it. My home is in Titusville, yet Papa has taken 
us very often out in a sail-boat, and I have been up and down Indian 
River, and all around Merritt's Island, and camped on Banana River, 
so I was very much interested in C. H. Webb's " Diamond-backs in 
Paradise," in the February number. One time we moored our boat 
on the western shore of Banana River. Papa, Mamma, and my sis- 
ter and myself set out to tramp to the beach. We passed through a 
trail that looked very much lik'^ the one pictured on page 268. We 
had to go single-file, and as we neared the beach, right in our path, 
lay the largest snake I ever saw. It measured six or seven feet long. 
It was a diamond-back. 

The President and Mrs. Cleveland visited Titusville, and went 
down Indian River on the steamer " Rockledge." The steamer was 
decorated in true tropical splendor, all fruits and flowers. I have 
lived in " Paradise" nearly two years and love all of it 

Hoping this is not too long to print, 

I remain, your loving reader, Birdir H ■. 

Cincinnati, Ohio. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I was very anxious that you should know 
the result of the operetta, " The Children's Crusade," that was given 
by the Jewish Walnut Hills Sabbath-school last month, because it 
was taken from your book. We send you many thanks, and are 
very grateful for the idea of the operetta. 

After a great many rehearsals, it was produced Saturday night. 
February 25th, the date of the Feast of Purim. This feast is cele- 

brated in commemoration of the deliverance of the Israelites, through 
the assistance of Mordecai and Esther, from the designs of Haman, 
who, with the aid of Ahasuerus, king of the Medes and Persians, 
had resolved to destroy all the Jews residing in those kingdoms. 

The operetta was loudly applauded by a large audience, which was 
highly entertained. The costumes were similar to those mentioned 
in the book, and the children who took part were much younger, 
but they all performed excellently. 

After tiie performance we had refreshments, and each one who 
took part was presented with a box of candy. In all probability it 
will be repeated ior some benefit at an early day. 

Your loving reader, Mav S . 

The wife of an eminent naturahst sends us the following pathetic 
verses, adding in the letter which accompanies them : " Oh, there is 
so much I doiit tell ! " 


By M. C. B. 

You may talk of the joy of a naturalist's life. 

You '11 excuse me, I hope, if I doubt it — ■ 
For really unless you 're a naturalist's wife, 

You know very little about it. 
Say, how would you like it, to open a box 

Just to peep at its contents a minute, 
To find that, instead of some fossils or rocks. 

There 's a rattlesnake coiled up within it ? 
Do you think you would like it yourself? 

Or when, in the spring, you are cleaning your house — 

You will hardly believe, if you 're told it — 
You find he has pickled a lizard or mouse 

In some jar that was handy to hold it ? 
Or some nice little box that you treasured with care 

For your ribbons, or feathers, or laces, 
To find that its contents are tossed in the air, 

And reptiles are filling their places — 
Do you think you would like it yourself? 

Just fancy your mind, on an opera night. 

When you take from a bandbox your bonnet, 
And find, to your great consternation and fright, 

A horned frog is resting upon it ! 
Or cautiously open your top bureau drawer, 

Where you hear a mysterious scratching, 
To find, in your elegant satin mouchoir 

Case, some young alligators are hatching. 
Do you think you would like it yourself? 

Unsuspecting, you open your dining-room door ; 

At the table he 's skinning some creatures. 
While your innocent baby is crawling the floor, 

With arsenic spread on his features ! 
So far, we have barely escaped with our lives. 

But the pleasure ! — oh, really, I doubt it ; 
And unless you are, some of you, naturalists' wives, 

You can know very little about it. 

Do you think you would like it yourself? 

Cannes, France. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Your March number has just reached me, 
I enjoyed reading it very much, and as we are at present traveling 



abroad, Mr. Frank Stockton's article on -The People we Meet" 
interested us greatly, as we have met a number of the sort of 
people he describes. The other day an American lady at our hotel 
was walking in the garden with her little girl, who was talking Ger- 
man. An English gentleman of her acquaintance happened to come 
up at the moment, and asked the lady where the child had learned 
the language. When she told him that it was in New York, he ex- 
pressed his surpnse by saying he had no idea that there were any 
facilities for studying foreign languages in America. A young lady, 
also from New York, who is here, was asked by a young English- 
man who had just passed his examinations before entering the army, 
whether New York was much larger than Cannes? Cannes, you 
must know, has a population of about 19,000 inhabitants. 

While here I have come across a French magazine for young 
folks, bearing your name, and with several illustrations which I 
have seen in your numbers. Otherwise it is entirely different, and 
not nearly so interesting as yours is. 

Your interested reader, Florence E . 

Canaan, Conn. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I like you very much, but I have never 
written to you before. I have an aunt who has taken you quite a 
while. Every time I went to see her I would ask her if St. 
Nicholas had come, but now I take it myself. 

I have a little black dog that was given to Papa, and he gave it to 
me. We have another dog, too, and he is very jealous of " Mac," 
for that is the little dog's name. 

I read *' Little Lord Fauntleroy," and like it very much. "Juan 
and Juanita" is my other favorite. 

Your reader, Sam. G. C . 

Milwaukee, Wis. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I commenced taking you last summer. 
I am very much interested in the stories. Our city is on the bank 
of Lake Michigan. The buildings are mostly of creain-colored brick ; 
some paint them red to look like the Eastern buildings. Just out- 
side of the city is the Soldiers* Home. It is a lovely place; the 
buildings are situated in the midst of natural woods. The trees are 
cleared out enough to let the sunshine on the building, while drives, 
winding paths, and beautiful flower-beds are all around the place. 
There are about twelve hundred soldiers living there. Some of them 
are growing old. I have heard that the city wants the place for a 
park when the soldiers are through with it, as we have no park in 
the city, of any size. 

I Hke the story of " Sara Crewe," but I like *' The Brownies " best. 
I hope you will have lots more of them. 

Your faithful reader, Charlie S . 

I have a cat and a dog, and a great many pretty playthings. 

1 enjoy "The Brownies" very much, and am disappointed when 
I look through the book and And they are not in it. I have a magic 
lantern and spend many pleasant evenings showing it. 

Your constant reader, C. Albert G . 

Philadelphia, Penn. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We are two little girls who have taken 
you for a long, long time, and we think you are perfectly lovely. 
We each have our favorite instrument: one plays on the piano and 
the other on the violin. We are very fond of the puzzles and do 
nearly all of them ; we tried making the paper ball mentioned in the 
March number and succeeded very nicely, and also the Nantucket 
sinks that were published several months ago. We hope there will 
be some more directions for folding paper in different ways, as we 
like to do them so much. Hoping to see this letter in some future 
number, and wishing you a long and prosperous life, 
We remain, your loving readers, 

C. D. Du B and A. C. L- . 

Champroux, Allier, France. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I thought that perhaps some of your 
readers would Hke to hear about my home, which is so different 
from all that I read in your interesting pages. If you do not 
mind my incorrect English I will try to lell you something about it. 
It is quite an out-of-the-way place, hardly known, even by French 
people of other regions. Our peasants are still very ignorant, though 
they are not at all stupid ; they have kept up some customs from 
the time of the Druids, anNd when we tell them that they are super- 
stitious, they answer, good-numoredly, " It can be," or " You know 
better than we do ! " but their belief is not shaken in the least. 
Their language is rather difficult to understand at first, for they 
speak the ancient French, with a queer singing accent. They used 
to have a very pretty picturesque costume, but, unfortunately, only 
the old people wear it now. When one of them is ill, it is nearly 
impossible to make them send for a doctor; they have much more 
confidence in wizards or witches, who mutter incoherent words over 
the patient, blowing in his mouth if he suffers from a sore throat, or 
tying a string round his waist if he has pains in the chest. The 
peasants never speak out the names of these people, but simply call 
them pc?'sojis.'' ('* I called the person," " the persoji came," etc.) 
Quite lately a poor woman died of the croup, and her children told 
us: "We had everything for her, and the person saw her three 
times ! " 

I fear this letter is getting too long, but if you should like to hear 
more about my dear Bourbonnais, I would enjoy writing agnin. 

Believe me, yours sincerely, C6cile Y . 

Andover, N. B. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little giri ten years old. I live in 
New Brunswick. Two miles from where I live is an Indian village. 
It is just at the mouth of the Tobique River, in which salmon and 
trout are caught ; sportsmen use the Indians as guides. The Indians 
have quite nice houses, and many have organs and sewing-machines. 

I am yours, very sincerely, LotnsE P . 

Philadelphia, Pa. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I wrote you a letter last summer. A few 
weeks ago my brother and I went to Trenton by ourselves and had 
a splendid time. We spent from Friday to Monday. When we 
were in Trenton I saw a policeman take si.x men to jail, and one of 
them had no jacket, and no hat and shoes. Trenton has the finest 
potteries in the United States; I once went to the potteries there, 
but it was so long ago that I don't remember anything about them. 

I go to school right ne.xt door, so I don't have far to go. A few 
weeks ago I went to the Zoo, and had a very nice time there ; I saw 
all the animals, but they were not out of their cages, because it was 
too cold. So I went in the houses and saw a great deal to look at 
and amuse me; there was one house that I liked best of all, and I 
will tell you what it is, it is the bird-house ; two or three birds were 
m one cage, and sometimes they would fight and make a great noise, 
and you could not hear yourself speak ; but there was one bird that 
I liked best of all, and that was the parrot ; he would say, when any 
body came to look at him, " How do you do ? " all the time till you 
went away, and when you were going he would say, " Good-bye, 
good-bye"; it was very funny to hear him; he said it in such a 
funny way. Good-bye. 

I remain your faithful reader, Madge H. Y. 

Shanghai, China. 

My Dear St. Nicholas: I enjoy taking you very much, and 
love you more every month. I have taken you eleven months — 
nearly a year. I am a little American girl, but live in China. 

My friend Alice Winsor lives here also, and we are nearly always 

Alice has taken S r. Nicholas nearly two years, and she enjoys 
you very much, I think. 

My favorite stories are "Jenny's Boarding-house," "Juan and 
Juanita," and "Winning a Commission," although I like all the 

Alice Winsor and I play paper dolls, and I have four. Now I 
will close, for I fear my letter is too long. 

From Josephine B . 

Flensburg, Germany. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I never yet have seen a letter from Flens- 
burg in your " Letter-box," so thought I would send you one. Flens- 
burg is an old town in the " Province of Schleswig," and belonged 
from olden time, till the year 1S63, to Denmark. Then it was con- 
quered by the Prussians, who now try their best to make a German 
town of it. I, too, learn German here, but as an American boy I try 
to keep up my English, and your dear magazine is a great help to 
me in this. You are to me like a dear friend from home ; I always 
long for you, and love you dearly. I like "Juan and Juanita" 
very, very much, and would give anything to have a bow like 

I was very sick last year. When I grew better a canary-bird was 
given to me; he is my pet, and I could tell you many things about 
him, but I fear the letter will get too long. 

I am your devoted reader, Ernst C. B . 

Atlanta, Ga. 

My Dear St. Nicholas: I am nine years old. I have been 
confined to my bed for the past ten months. My eldest sister gave 
you to me last Christmas, and I look impatiently for vou every 
month. V J 3 

New York, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I was glad that you had in the last number 
an article about the child pianist — little Josef Hofmann. 

Is he not wonderful? I have heard that he wishes to be an en- 
gineer. He went to the Berkeley school drill one day, and the 
principal presented him with the gun, cap, sword, shoulder- tabs, and 



belt worn by the boys. He was much delighted, and while he was 
giving concerts put them on whenever he was not playing. 

I think that, aside from his genius in music, he is a very interesting 

He one day showed me three of his oil-paintings, and I think that 
he paints beautifully. One was a meadow with a good many soft 
green trees in it, and a brook running through it was very good. 
He has never had a painting lesson, so 1 think that his skill is 
wonderful. Sincerely, ( i. G. D . 

are in the east, and Bertha, Claude and I are with my aunt Fanny. 
Bertha is only six years old, and Claude four, so they can't read 
you, but I read the stories to them. Claude says, to tell you that 
if that Chinaman "Brownie " is high-toned enough to associate 
with the " Dude," he ought to have a longer pig-tail. Last night 
Marie (my nurse) told me of L. M. Alcott's death ; Marie has seen 
her twice, and once spoke to her. She felt very sorry. I am afraid 
that I have made some mistakes, but as I am not yet nine you must 
exxuse Your .'ittle reader, Irene. 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I think you are the best magazine ever 
published, and I have had the pleasure of reading you regularly 
since July, 1887, and I mean to take you a good deal longer, I like 
the stories written by Wm. H. Rideing and Frank R. Stockton ; 
I like Drill," too. 

Last summer my sister had two white rats; they were very cun- 
ning, and would run up my sleeve and come out of my neck. One 
day she took them to Prospect Park, and soon a crowd were admir- 
ing them for their funny antics. Soon after one died and the other 
ran away. We now have a cat, but as I am a boy I do not care so 
much for her, and would rather have the rats. 

Your constant reader, Joe. 

Yokohama, Japan, 
Deak St. Nicholas; I want to write and tell you about a trip 
I made a while ago to the great bronze image of Buddha, called 
Daibutsu, which stands in a pretty nook among some hills about 
twenty miles from Yokohama. We started from our house at about 
ten o'clock a. m. The first part of our journey we did by rail, 
and then followed a ride of about an hour and three-quarters by 
Jinrikisha. The scenery was very pretty, the rice-fields, and hills, 
and here and there a farm-house or a shrine nestling among the trees. 
However, we were very glad when we arrived at our destination, for 
we were all ready for lunch. The image is in a sitting position, with 
its hands folded on its lap. It is about fifty feet high, ninety-eight 
feet around its waist, the diameter of its lap is thirty-six feet, and its 
stone pedestal is four and a half feet high. Inside of the image is a 
temple in which there are two windows high up in the back, and in 
the head, which is hollows stands an image of gold of one of the Japan- 
ese gods. It is said that once when Buddha sat down to rest, snails 
came and crawled upon his head to shield him from the sun, so on 
the head of the figure are knobs intended to represent snails. There 
used to be a large temple over It, but it and the great city surrounding 
it were destroyed by a flood, for it stands in sight of the sea, and now 
there are only a few houses ^vhere once was the capital of the empire. 

We live in sight of the beautiful mountain Fujiyama, or "peerless 
mountain." It is about sixty miles from here. Its snow-covered 
sides form an almost perfect cone with a flat top. It used to be a 
volcano, but is now extinct. 

I do like your stories so much, especially " Donald and Dorothy, "' 
" Juan and Juanita," and " Littb Lord Fauntleroy." My aunt has 
sent you to me since 1880, and I think you are the nicest magazine 
I ever saw. Now I must stop, for I *m afraid J 've made my letter 
too long already. Louise L . 

Frkeport, Ohio. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have often thought of writing to you. 
but never have ventured to do so until now I take the beautiful 
St. Nicholas, and think all the stories it contains are lovely. 

The *' Letter-box" also is "jery interesting. I go to school, and study 
nearly all of the common branches and drawing. I like drawing 
best of all. My chief delight is riding on horseback. I can ride 
either standing or sitting. 

I have a very nice pony. I live near a village of six hundred in- 
habitants. Along the southern portion of the village is a small river 
named Still Water, because its waters are so very still. 

I remain, your devoted reader, Laura C . 

Chkhams, Washington Tkr. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have read with great interest in the 
March number about ** A Pig That Nearly Caused a War"; par- 
ticularly so, as Mr. Henry Miles, who lives here, and is a friend of 
my father, knew both Stubbs and Griffiths and all about the "pig-" 
Mr. Miles says that it was Captain Pickett who was in command of 
the company of soldiers who first took possession of San Juan Isl- 
and. Lieutenant-Colonel Casey took command soon after. This 
Captain Pickett is the General Pickett who afterward led the famous 
charge of the Confederates at the battle of Gettysburg. Mr. Miles 
is the man who first raised the stars and stripes on San Juan Island 
at the time Captain Pickett took possession. 

I have written this in the hope that it might be of interest to some 
of your readers. 

Your 'iincere friend, Anne Grey M . 

Sax Francisco, Cal. 
Dear St Nicholas : I have taken you for a long time, but I 
have never written to you before. My mother and sister Dorothy 


My Dear St. Nicholas : Your magazine has been a welcome 
visitor to our house since 1879, when I was three years old. 

My little sister, Alice, used to cry for the " Nicholy " when she 
was only two years old. The first time we knew she could read all 
alone by herself was when we found her in the bay-window with the 
"Nicholy" on the floor before her, laughing over the story of 
"The Little VAx\ that Stood on Her Head." 

We consider you, dear St. Nicholas, a necessary member of the 
family, and never tire of your stories, but I like Frank R. Stock- 
ton's stories the best of all. 

I wish you visited every boy and girl in the world as well as 

Charles Sumner W . 

Shoshone Indian Agency. 

Dear St. Nicholas: My papa is agent at this agency, the 
Shoshone agency in Wyoming. There are two tribes of Indians here, 
the Shoshones and Arapahoes ; their chiefs are very fine Indians. 
Washakie, the chief of the Shoshones, and Black Goat, the chief of 
the Arapahoes ; we have them to dinner sometimes. Black Goat 
has as nice manners as any gentleman I ever saw. The Indians 
make very pretty things, such as war-bonnets, and war-shirts, and 
very pretty bead-work, and moccasins. The Sioux and the Utes 
come and trade with our Indians every summer. 

Your affectionate reader, Robert L. J . 

P. S. — We have taken you ever since 1877. 

Duke Centre, Pa. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am ten years old. This is the eighth 
year my Papa has taken the St. Nicholas for me. I liked " Little 
Lord Fauntleroy" and "Juan and Juanita" very much. I look 
anxiously for " Brownies " in every number. 

I live in the oil country, and my Mamma uses gas for fuel and 

I hope you will print this letter, as it is the first one I have ever 
written you. Your friend, Roy M. C . 

We thank the young friends, whose names are here given, for their 
pleasant and interesting letters : 

E. K Mahonie, Grace L. Kelsey, Edith Brown, Lynn W. Clark, 
J. B. R., Robbie W. P., Elton E., Mary von Klenck, Lil, Mary E 
Sigsbee, Percy, Reggie, and Malcolm Murray, Florence Merryman. 
Marie W. S., Laura H. M., Lottie Innis, Bertrand Robertson, 
Harold Hepburn, Maude A. Flentye, Virgie H., S. E. G., Bennie 
E. Lovemann, Jeanette H., Bessie G. B., Anna Julia Schlund, 
Mattic E. Harlow, Roxalene and W. R. Howell, Montrose J. M., 
"Three Little Maids from School," Edith M. and Bessie W., 
Clementine W. Kellogg, "Puss," "Nellie," Gertrude Harrison, 
Helen R. Fish, Alixe De M., Emma Y. L^imon, Percy E. Thomas, 
fZmma C. F., Mabel G., Lillie Fisher, Daisy M. Tabor, Jessie T. Hal- 
lam, Louise N., Bertha Beerbourer, Fredericka W., Veni McDon- 
ald, Josephine Murphy, Nellie B. Warfield, Clara M. Danielson, 
Katie L. Aller, Elsie Sanderson, Maud Moore, Aimee M. Bakeman, 
Dorothy Whitney, Alice J. Tufts, Ethel C, Will L. S., Orlie S. L., 
Edith C. Curtis, Frank D. Cargill, Evelyn K., Mary M. H., Clara 
L. L., Katie B. Davis, Ray Helen Bierce, Aleck D., Currie F. Aux- 
ter, Laura Dolbear, Charles Johnson, May Ward, Herbert C. Davis, 
Jennie C. B., Annie M. Osborn, Caro H. B., Rudy Cole, Ella M. 
Fischer, Anna L V. S., Alice E. T., George K. Curtis, Mabel Bos- 
worth, Helen R. N., Agnes Duhring, Kennedy Allen, Blanche F. , 
Emma, Harry, and Bertie Fisher, F. M. L., Eliza R. Boyd, Clara 
Cook, Fannie W. C, Mary L. McKoy, Bessie Lasher, Cari Kussel 
Lee, Eleanor May, Georgia W., Lydia B., Alberta B., Browny and 
Gipsy B., Nellie A. Black, Alice E. Lewis, Katrina, Gertrude, and 
Cari Ely, H. B. J., May A. Bannister, Mabel L. Lambom, Gardi- 
ner Tyler, Mary Lee Allen, Katie Troy, Effie S. Woolwine, Georgie 
E. Ross, Emily V. Clark, and Morris P. Tilley. 



Word-square, i. Barb. 2. Aloe. 3. Rosa. 4. Bean. 

Cube. From i to 2, horizon; 2 to 4, nebular; i to 3, halibut; 
3 to 4, teacher ; 5 to 6, sapient ; 6 to 8, trachea ; ^ to 7, Siberia : 7 
to 8, Agrippa ; i to 5, Huns; 2 to 6, neat ; 4 to 8, rana ; 3 to 7, toga. 

Double Central Acrostic. Third row, printing ; fourth row, 
invented. Cross-words; i. rePIne. 2. hoRNet. 3. shIVer. 4. 
teNEts. 5. caTNip. 6. smIThy. 7. hoNEst. 8. BaGDad. 

Rhomboid. Across: i. Katie. 2. Nodal. 3. Merit. 4. Sleep. 
5. Snail. 

Acrostic. First row, Heir of Redclyffe ; third row, Charlotte M. 
Yonge. Cross-words: i. HaCkney. 2. EcHinus. 3. IdAlian, 
4. ReRedos. 5. ObLique. 6. FeOdary. 7. RaTable. 8. En- 
Traps. 9. DeEpens. 10. CoMment. 11. LaYland. 12. YeO- 
man's. 13. FaNtasm. 14. FaGging. 15. EvEning. 

Maltese Cross. From i to 3, pasha; 4 to 5, ace; 6 to 7, act; 
3 to 10, break ; 11 to 13, opium ; 14 to 15, gnu ; 16 to 17, Esk ; 18 
to 2Q, Creon ; 2 to 9, science; 12 to 19, incense. 

A DiAMON'D. I. C. 2. Lot. 3. Henri. 4. Leading. 5. Con- 
ductor. 6. Tricked. 7. Inter. 8. God. 9. R. 

Pl Mark ! how we meet ihee. 

At dawn of dewy day ! 
Hark ! how we greet thee 

With our roundelay ! 
Whde all the goodly things that be. 
In earth, and air, and ample sea. 
Are waking up to welcome thee 

Thou merry month of May ! 

Beheadincs. Beheaded letters, May-day. i. M-arc-h. 2. 
A-ton-e. 3. V-eve-n. 4. D-air-y. 5. A-men-d. 6. Y-ear-n. 

Zigzag. Chancellorsxille. Cross-words: i. Cell. 2. sHam. 3. 
clAn. 4. braN. 5. taCt. 6. tf'al. 7. Loon. 8. aLar. 9. drOp. 
TO. geaR. IT. \aSt. 12. aVer. 13. Ibe.\. 14. aLir.s. 15. haLo. 
16. ElbE. 

To our Puzzlers: .Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addre-ssed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the M.^rch Number were received, before March 15th, from Grace Kupfer — Paul Reese — 
Maud E. Palmer — Russell Davies — A. Fiske & Co. — "Socrates" — Sydney — " K. G. S." — " Shumway Hen and Chickens" — 
Jo and I — "Infantry" — Ruth and Rob — Ada C. H.—'' Jamie and Mamma" — H. A. R. and A. C. R. — Francis W. Islip. 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received, before March 15th, from M. and R. Davis, i — "Scorchie," i — 
Lily of the Valley, i — C. L. S., i — Tabby, i — Tommy, i — Hildegarde, i — Edith T. B-, i — Geo. W. Bacon, 2 — Harry H. Miller, 
I — J. B. Scullin, I — Fritz -Abeken, i — N. O., 1 — M. Snowball S., 2 — Rahry Nanirod. i — Elsie P., 3 — Bessie M. C'iarke, i —Helen 
Fitch, I — Warren B. Call, i — W. D. Ward, i — Jennette C. Vorce, 4 — P. and B. Kennedy, 2 — Edith A. Armer, 2 — " What Say ? " 
3 — E. M. G., I — Daisy S, , i — Nellie and Reggie, 10 — Fred Shaw, i — " May and 79," 8 — E. C. F. and M. R. F. , i — Kittie Anger. 

I — Rosalie B. , 4 — Minnie Deppe, i — James W., 2 — Jennie S. Liebman, 10 — " Lehle," 9 — Grace Hodson, 2 — " Alpha, Alpha. B, 
C," 9 — "Merry Three," t — Nellie L Howes, 10 — Jay Larel, Jr., 10 — S. and B. Rhodes, 8 — "Three Graces of Newark," 3 — 
Kafran Emerawit, 8 — " Rag Tag," 7 — Katie Hudson, i — " Skipper," 3 — Mollie Cleary, i — Efifie K. Talboys, 8 — " Orange and Black," 

II — "Twin Elephants," 4 — Nannie D. and Lillian S., 4 — No Name, Beacon St., 9 — Edith and Nanie, 8 — "Bobby O'Link," 4 — 
" Ducky Daddies," 8 — "Electric Button and Patrick," 5 — Irma Moses, 1 — Allan F. Barnes, i — W. R.Moore, 10 — L. R.. 2 — Pet 
and Pug, I — " Patty-pan and Kettle-drum," 4 — " Donald and Dorothy," 7 — " Sally Lunn," 7 — " Lock and Key," i — Adrienne For- 
rester, 2 — Mary von Klenck, i — E. M. S., 10 — C. and E. .\shby, 10 — Harry W. and Ruby M , i — Belle Larkin, i — " Pop and I," 5. 


Insert a vowel wherever there is an x in the fifteen sentences 
which follow. When they are complete, select a word of five letters 
from each sentence. When these fifteen words are rightly selected 
and placed one below the other, the central row of letters, reading 
downward, will spell what June is often called : 
















I. A HEATHEN. 2. A Century plant. 3. Diversions. 4. To turn 
away. 5. Cosy places. bertie b. 


I am composed of sixty-nine letters and form two lines of a poem 
by Cowper. 

My 25-63-35-9 is a portion. My 69-5-59 is an animal of the stag 
kind. My 23-55-11-47 is to chop into small pieces. My P-43-30- 
52 is departed. My 18-15-49 is to buzz. My 63-38-28-32 is a fish. 
My 4-57-45-68-26 is to revolve. My 37-21-19-53-17-6-1315 to prale. 

My 42-24-62 is a bird of the crow family. My 2-67-16-58 is a knob 
My 61-50-14-27 is a hautboy. My 66-34-60-1-41 are members of a 
religious commimity. My 29-48-64-22 is the Runic letter or charac- 
ter. My 54- 3-51-44-31-46 is the name of a famous American scholar, 
lecturer, poet and 39-40-20; my 33-56-36-12-10-7 is an adjective 
that no one can apply to him. ".\uGusTus G. Hopkins." 


.All the words described contain the same number of letters ; the 
two central rows of letters, reading downward, form two words ; one, 
a common flower ; the other, the sacred plant of the Druids. 

Cross-words ; i. .An insane man. 2. .A fish that sw-ims on its 
side, and has both its eyes on one side. 3. A chief magistrate in 
ancient Rome. 4. A kind of grass highly valued for pasturage. 5. 
Certain mollusks used for food in England. 6. A piece of money 
mentioned in the Bible. 7. A swelling of the neck, peculiar to some 
parts of Switzerland. 8. Inclines forward. 9. Muscular. 


Mv ^rs^ is a kind of a fling ; 
My second, a very small word ; 
My third, though oft on the head. 
Is fatal to fish and to bird. 
The luhale^ if the three are apart. 
Will mean, " make ready one snare " ; 
United and handled with art. 
It graces a dance or an air. 


1. Behead an animal and lea\e part of a skillet. 2. Behead to 
disclose and leave tf» write. 3. Behead an indication and lea\c 
persons. 4. Behead refined and lea\'e a brittle substance, 5 Be- 
head a delighttiil region and lea\*e a retreat. 

The beheaded letters will spell the name of an American pioneer 
and explorer, who was several times captured by Indians. 




The nine words of this acrostic are pictured instead of described. 
When the words are rightly guessed, and placed one below the other, 
in the order in which they are numbered, the central letters will spell 
the name of a famous sovereign of ancient history. 


My primals and finals are the same as the first cross-word. 
Cross-words: i. A castle in Spain. 2. The quantity contained 
in a ladle. 3. A convulsive sound which comes from the throat. 4 . The 

same as the first cross-word. 5. A spar by means of which the main- 
sail of a small vessel is extended. 6. An organization for playing 
the national game. 7. One who enrolls or records. 8. The same as 
the first cross-word. e. e. adams. 


Two verses of a certain poem may be found in the following para- 
graphs : 

He art hesk ylar kint heel oudh ear the eric keti nth egras stril 
lin gblit hen esscle ara ndl oudch irping gle eto allw hop ass. Oht 
hem en ysum merl aye art hand skyke epho liday. 

He arth ele avest hat kiss th eair, he art hela ugh tero ftheb eesw 
hor emem bers win terc are int hes hining day sli keth ese ? Oht 
hem erryl ayof jun eal lour hear tsar egla dint une. 


I. I. A Scriptural proper name (meaning " a thorn ") mentioned 
in the fiftieth chapter of Genesis. 2. Implied. 3. A shrub. 4. The 
surname of a great English novelist, who died on June 9th. 5. A 
particular sort of thrust in fencing. 6. The joint formed by the 
astragalus. 7. A prophet. 

II. I. The forward part of a vessel. 2. Outer garments worn 
by the ancient Romans. 3. A prophetic nymph from whom Numa 
claimed to have received instructions respecting forms of worship 
which he introduced. 4. A famous battle fought on June 14, i8co. 
5. A vocalist. 6. A deputy. 7. Refuse of hay. 

III. I. An old word meaning. a deception." 2. The brother 
of Rebekah, mentioned in the twenty-fourth chapter of Genesis. 
3. Habitations. 4. A President of the United States who died on 
June 21, 1836. 5. To settle. 6. Parts of shoes. 7. A collection 
of boxes, of graduated size. F. s. F, 


My first is in evil, but not in good ; 

My second, in bonnet, but not in hood ; 

My third is in arrow, but not in bow : 

My fourth is in robin, but not in crow : 

My fifth is in summer, but not in the fall ; 

My sixth is in stutter, but not in a drawl : 

My whole was a Frenchman, a painter of fame, 

His birthday, June 30. Now, what is his name ? 


By starting at the right letter in one of the following words, and 
then taking every third letter, a famous event which took place in 
June, 1838, may be formed : 



I .... 2 

3 ■ • • • 4 

7 ; ... 8 

I FRom I to 2, a covering ; from 2 to 4, always on the supper- 
table ; from 1 to 3, engraved ; from 3 to 4, to manage ; from 5 to 6, 
fermenting preparations ; from 6 to 8, attends ; from 5 to 7, at a dis- 
tance yet within view ; from 7 to 8, parches ; from i to 5, to surfeit : 
from 2 to 6, sailors ; from 4 to 8, wooden vessels ; from 3 to 7, an 
animal. . . 

II. From I to 2, strong ropes or chains; from 2 to 4, imprints ; 
from I to 1, a very small room ; from 3 to 4, vagrants ; from 5 to 6, 
to spice; from 6 to 8, nicely; from 5 to 7, darkness: from 7 to 8, 
bleak ■ from i to 5, covered carriages; from 2 to 6, indic.ition :^ trom 
i to 8 to kill ; from 3 to 7, an old word meaning " to believe. 




(See story ^'^ Ringing in the Fourth,'" page 666.) 


Vol. XV. 

JULY, 1888, 

No. 9. 

By Thomas Nelson Page. 

Chapter IX. 

The boys were not sure that they had even 
fallen asleep when they heard Lucy Ann call, out- 
side. They turned over to take another nap. 
She was coming up to the door. No, for it was 
a man's step, it must be Uncle Balla's ; they 
heard horses trampling and people talking. In a 
second the door was flung open, and a man strode 
into the room followed by one, two, a half-dozen 
others, all white and all in uniform. They were 
Yankees. The boys were too frightened to speak. 
They thought they were arrested for hiding the 

" Get up, you lazy little rebels," cried one of the 
intruders, not unpleasantly. As the boys were 
not very quick in obeying, being really too fright- 
ened to do more than sit up in bed, the man 
caught the mattress by the end, and lifting it with 
a jerk emptied them and all the bedclothes out 
into the middle of the floor in a heap. At this 
all the other men laughed. A minute more and 
he had drawn his sword. The boys expected no 
less than to be immediately killed. They were 
almost paralyzed. But instead of plunging his 
sword into them, the man began to stick it into 
the mattresses and to rip them up ; while others 
pulled open the drawers of the bureau and pitched 
the things on the floor. 

The boys felt themselves to be in a very ex- 

posed and defenseless condition; and Willy, who 
had become tangled in the bedclothes, and had 
been a little hurt in falling, now that the strain was 
somewhat over, began to cry. 

In a minute a shadow darkened the doorway 
and their mother stood in the room. 

"Leave the room instantly!" she cried. 
" Are n't you ashamed to frighten children ! " 

" We have n't hurt the brats," said the man with 
the sword, good-naturedly. 

" Well, you terrify them to death. It 's just as 
bad. Give me those clothes ! " and she sprang 
forward and snatched the boys' clothes from the 
hands of a man who had taken them up. She 
flung the suits to the boys, who lost no time in 
slipping into them. 

They had at once recovered their courage in the 
presence of their mother. She seemed to them, 
as she braved the intruders, the grandest person 
they had ever seen. Her face was white, but her 
eyes were like coals of fire. They were very glad 
she had never looked or talked so to them. 

When they got outdoors the yard was full of 
soldiers. They were upon the porches, in the en- 
try, and in the house. The smoke-house was open 
and so were the doors of all the other outhouses, 
and now and then a man passed, carrying some 
article which the boys recognized. 

In a little while the soldiers had taken every- 
thing they could carry conveniently, and even 





things which must have caused them some incon- 
venience. They had secured all the bacon that 
had been left in the smoke-house, as well as all other 
eatables they could find. It was a queer sight, to 
see the fellows sitting on their horses with a ham 
or a pair of fowls tied to one side of the saddle and 
an engraving, or a package of books, or some or- 
nament, to the other. 

A new party of men had by this time come up 
from the direction of the stables. 

'•Old man, come here!" called some of them 
to Balla, who was standing near expostulating 
with the men who were about the fire. 

' ' Who ? — me ? " asked Balla. 

" B' ain't you the carriage driver? '' 

'■ Ain't I the keridge driver? " 

" Yes, yoiij we know you are, so you need not 
be lying about it." 

"Hi! yes; I the keridge driver. Who say I 
ain't ? " 

" Well, where have you hid those horses ? Come, 
we want to know, quick," said the fellow roughly, 
taking out his pistol in a threatening way. 

The old man's eyes grew wide. " Hi ! befo' de 
Lord ! Marster, how I know anything of the horses 
ef they ain't in the stable, — there's where we 
keeps horses ! " 

"Here, you come with us. We won't have no 
foolin' 'bout this," said his questioner, seizing him 
by the shoulder and jerking him angrily around. 
" If you don't show us pretty quick where those 
horses are, we '11 put a bullet or two into you. 
March off there ! " 

He was backed up by half-a-dozen more, but the 
pistol, which was at old Balla's head, was his most 
efficient ally. 

" Hi ! Marster, don't pint dat thing at me dat 
way. I ain' ready to die yit — an' I ain' like dem 
things, noways," protested Balla. 

There is no telling how much farther his courage 
could have withstood their threats, for the boys' 
mother made her appearance. She was about to 
bid Balla show where the horses were, when a 
party rode into the yard leading them. 

" Hi ! there are Bill and John, now," exclaimed 
the boys, recognizing the black carriage-horses 
which were being led along. 

" Well, ef dee ain't got 'em, sho' 'nough ! " ex- 
claimed the old driver, forgetting his fear of the 
cocked pistols. 

" Gentlemen, marsters, don't teck my horses, 
ef you please," he pleaded, pushing through the 
group that surrounded him, and approaching the 
man who led the horses. 

They oiily laughed at him. 

Both the boys ran to their mother, and, flinging 
their arms about her, burst out crying. 

In a few minutes the men started off, riding 
across the fields ; and in a little while not a soldier 
was in sight. 

" I wish Marse William could see you ridin' 
'cross them fields," said Balla, looking after the 
retiring troop in futile indignation. 

Investigation revealed the fact that every horse 
and mule on the plantation had l^een carried off, 
except only two or three old mules, which were 
evidently considered not worth taking. 

Chapter X. 

After this, times were very hard on the planta- 
tion. But the boys' mother struggled to provide 
as best she could for the family and hands. She 
used to ride all over the county to secure the sup- 
plies which were necessary for their support ; one 
of the boys usually being her escort and riding 
behind her on one of the old mules that the raiders 
had left. In this way the boys became acquainted 
with the roads of the county and even with all the 
bridle-paths in the neighborhood of their home. 
Many of these were dim enough, too, running 
through stretches of pine forest, across old fields 
which were little better than jungle, along gullies, 
up ditches, and through woods for mile after mile. 
They were generally useful only to a race, such as 
the negroes, which had an instinct for direction like 
that shown by some animals ; but the boys learned 
to follow them unerringly, and soon became as 
skillful in " keepin' de parf" as any night-walker 
on the plantation. 

As the year passed, the times grew harder and 
harder, and the expeditions made by the boys' 
mother became longer and longer, and more and 
more frequent. 

The meat gave out, and, worst of all, they had 
no hogs left for the next year. The plantation 
usually subsisted on bacon ; but now there was not 
a pig left on the place — unless the old wild sow in 
the big woods (who had refused to be "driven up" 
the fall before) still survived, which was doubtful ; 
for the most diligent search was made for her 
without success, and it was conceded that even she 
had fallen a prey to the deserters. Nothing was 
heard of her for months. 

One day, in the autumn, the boys were out hunt- 
ing in the big woods, in the most distant and 
wildest part, where they sloped down toward a 
little marshy branch that ran into the river a mile 
or two away. 

It was a very dry spell and squirrels were hard 
to find, owing, the boys agreed, to the noise made 
in trampling through the dry leaves. Finally, they 
decided to station themselves each at the foot of a 
hickory and wait for the squirrels. They found 



two large hickory trees not too far apart, and took was a sudden " oof, oof," and Frank heard them 
their positions each on the ground, with his back to rushing l^ack down through the woods toward the 


" Somebody's hogs," he muttered in disgust. 
"Frank, Frank!'' cahed Willy, in a most 

a tree. 

It was very dull, waiting, and a half-whispered 
colloquy was passing between them as to the 
advisability of giving it up, when a faint "cranch, excited tone, 
cranch, cranch," sounded in the dry leaves. At "What?" 

first the boys thought it was a squirrel, and both " It 's the old spotted sow, and she 's got a lot of 
of them grasped their guns. Then the sound pigs with her — great big shoats nearly grown ! " 




came again, but this time there appeared to be, 
not one, but a number of animals, rustling slowly 

" What is it ? " asked Frank, of Willy, whose tree 
was a little nearer the direction from which the 
sound came. 

'"T ain't anything but some cows or sheep, 1 
believe," said Willy, in a disappointed tone. The 
look of interest died out of Frank's face, but he 
still kept his eyes in the direction of the sound, 
which was now very distinct. The underbrush, 
however, was too thick for them to see anything. 
At length Willy rose and pushed his way rapidly 
through the bushes toward the animals. There 

Frank sprang up and ran through the bushes. 
" At least six of 'em ! " 
" Let 's follow 'em ! " 
" All right." 

The boys, stooping their heads, struck out 
through the bushes in the direction from which the 
yet retreating animals could still be heard. 

" Let 's shoot 'em." 

"All right." 

On they kept as hard as they could. What 
great news it was ! What royal game ! 

" It 's like hunting wild l.)oars, is n't it ? " shouted 
Willy, joyfully. 

They followed the track left by the animals in 




the leaves kicked up in their mad flight. It led 
down over the hill, through the thicket, and came 
to an end at the marsh which marked the begin- 
ning of the swamp. Beyond that it could not be 
traced; but it was evident that the wild hogs had 
taken refuge in the impenetrable recesses of the 
marsh which was their home. 

Chapter XI. 

FTER cir- 
cling the 
edge of 
for some 
time the 
boys, as 
it was now 
turned toward 
home. They 
were full of 
their valuable 
discovery, and 
laid all sorts 
of plans for 
the capture 
of the hogs. 
They would not 
tell even their 
mother, as they 
wished to surprise her. 
They were, of course, 
familiar with all the 
modes of trapping game, 
as described in the story- 
books, and they discussed 
them all. The easiest way 
to get the hogs was to shoot 
them, and this would be the 
most " fun " ; but it would never 
do, for the meat would spoil. When 
they reached home they hunted up 
Uncle Balla and told him about their 
discovery. He was very much inclined to 
laugh at them. The hogs they had seen 
were nothing, he told them, but some 
of the neighbors' hogs which had wan- 
dered into the woods. 
When the boys went to bed they talked 
it over once more and determined that next 
J' day they would thoroughly explore the woods 
and the swamp also, as far as they could. 

The following afternoon, therefore, they set out, 
and made immediately for that part of the woods 
where they had seen and heard the hogs the day 
before. One of them earned a gun and the other 

a long jumping-pole. After finding the trail they 
followed it straight down to the swamp. 

Rolling their trousers up above their knees, they 
waded boldly in, selecting an opening between the 
bushes which looked like a hog-path. They pro- 
ceeded slowly, for the briers were so thick in many 
places that they could hardly make any progress 
at all when they neared the branch. So they 
turned and worked their way painfully down the 
stream. At last, however, they reached a place 
where the brambles and bushes seemed to form a 
perfect wall before them. It was impossible to 
get through. 

"Let 's go home," said Willy. " 'T ain't any 
use to try to get through there. My legs are 
scratched all to pieces now." 

" Let 's try and get out here," said Frank, and 
he turned from the wall of brambles. They crept 
along, springing from hummock to hummock. 
Presently they came to a spot where the oozy mud 
extended at least eight or ten feet before the next 
tuft of grass. 

"How am I to get the gun across?" asked 
Willy, dolefully. 

" That 's a fact ! It 's too far to throw it, even 
with the caps off." 

At length they concluded to go back for a piece 
of log they had seen, and to throw this down so as 
to lessen the distance. 

They pulled the log out of the sand, carried it 
to the muddy spot, and threw it into the mud where 
they wanted it. 

Frank stuck his pole down and felt until he had 
what he thought a secure hold on it, fixed his eye 
on the tuft of grass beyond, and sprang into air. 

As he jumped, the pole slipped from its insecure 
support into the miry mud, and Frank, instead of 
landing on the hummock for which he had aimed, 
lost his direction, and soused flat on his side with a 
loud "spa-lash," in the water and mud three feet 
to the left. 

He was a queer object as he staggered to his 
feet in the quagmire ; but at the instant a loud 
" oof, oof," came from the thicket, not a dozen 
yards away, and the whole herd of hogs, roused, by 
his fall, from slumber in their muddy lair, dashed 
away through the swamp with " oofs " of fear. 

" There they go, there they go ! " shouted both 
boys eagerly,— Willy, in his excitement, splashing 
across the perilous-looking quagmire, and finding 
it not so deep as it had looked. 

" There 's where they go in and out," exclaimed 
Frank, pointing to a low round opening, not more 
than eighteen inches high, a little farther beyond 
them, which formed an arch in the almost solid 
wall of brambles surrounding the place. 

As it was now late they returned home, resolving 




to wait until the next afternoon before taking any 
further steps. There was not a pound of bacon 
to be obtained anywhere in the county for love or 
money, and the flock of sheep was almost gone. 

Their mother's anxiety as to means for keeping 
her dependents from starving 
was so great that the boys 1 
were on the point of telling 
her what they knew; and when 
they heard her wishing she 
had a few hogs to fatten, they 
could scarcely keep from let- 
ting her know their plans. 
At last they had to jump up, 
and run out of the room ! 

Next day the boys each 
hunted up a pair of old boots 
which they had used the win- 
ter before. The leather was 
so dry and worn that the boots 
hurt their growing feet cruellv, 
but they brought the boots 
along to put on when the) 
reached the swamp. This 
time, each took a gun, and 
they also carried an ax, for 
now they had determined on 
a plan for capturing the hogs. 

" I wish we had let Peter 
and Cole come," said Willy, 
dole-f^ully, sitting on the butt 
end of a log they had cut, and 
wiping his face on his sleeve. 

" Or had asked Uncle Balla 
to help us," added Frank. 

'• They 'd be certain to tell 
all about it." 

" Yes ; so they would." 

They settled down in silence, 
and panted. 

'•' I tell you what we ought 
to do ! Bait the hog-path, as you would for fish." 
This was the suggestion of the angler, Frank. 

" With what ? " 

" Acorns." 

The acorns were tolerably plentiful around the 
roots of the big oaks, so the boys set to work to 
pick them up. It was an easier job than cutting 
the log, and it was not long before each had his 
hat full. 

As they started down to the swamp, Frank ex- 
claimed, suddenly, " Look there, Willy ! " 

Willy looked, and not fifty yards away, with 
their ends resting on old stumps, were three or 
four "hacks," or piles of rails, which had been 
mauled the season before and left there, probably 
having been forgotten or overlooked. 

Willy gave a hurrah, v/hile bending under the 
weight of a large rail. 

At the spot where the hog-path came out of the 
thicket they commenced to build their trap. 

First they laid a floor of rails ; then they built a 

'we ve got em! we ve cot em! 

pen, five or six rails high, which they strength- 
ened with " outriders." When the pen was 
finished, they pried up the side nearest the thicket, 
from the bottom rail, about a foot ; that is, high 
enough for the animals to enter. This they did 
by means of two rails, using one as a fulcrum and 
one as a lever, having shortened them enough to 
enable the work to be done from inside the pen. 

The lever they pulled down at the farther end 
until it touched the bottom of the trap, and fast- 
ened it by another rail, a thin one, run at right 
angles to the lever, and across the pen. This 
would slip easily when pushed away from the gap, 
and needed to be moved only about an inch to 
slip from the end of the lever and release it ; the 
weight of the pen would then close the gap. Behind 




this rail the acorns were to be thrown ; and the 
hogs, in trying to get the bait, would push the 
rail, free the lever or trigger, and the gap would 
be closed by the fall of the pen when the lever was 

It was nearly night when the boys finished. 

They scattered a portion of the acorns for bait 
along the path and up into the pen, to toll the hogs 
in. The rest they strewed inside the pen, beyond 
their sliding rail. 

They could scarcely tear themselves away from 
the pen ; but it was so late they had to hurry home. 

Next day was Sunday. But Monday morning, 
by daylight, they were up and went out with 
their guns, apparently to hunt squirrels. They 
went, however, straight to their trap. As they 
approached they thought they heard the hogs 
grunting in the pen. Willy was sure of it; and 
they ran as hard as they could. But there were 
no hogs there. After going every morning and 
evening for two weeks, there never had been even 
an acorn missed, so they stopped their visits. 

Peter and Cole found out about the pen, and 
then the servants learned of it, and the boys were 
joked and laughed at unmercifully. 

" I believe them boys is distracted," said old 
Balla, in the kitchen; " settin' a pen in them 
woods for to ketch hogs, — with the gap open ! 
Think hogs goin' stay in pen with gap open — cf 
any wuz dyah to went in ! " 

"Well, you come out and help us hunt for 
them," said the boys to the old driver. 

" Go 'way, boy, I ain' got time foolin' wid you 
chillern, buildin' pen in swamp. There ain't no 
hogs in them woods, onless they got in dyah sence 
las' fall." 

"You saw 'em, did n't you, Willy?" declared 

" Yes, I did." 

" Go 'way. Don't you know, ef that old sow 
had been in them woods the boys would have got 
her up las' fall, — an' ef they had n't, she 'd come 
up long befo' this ? " 

" Mister Hall ketch you boys puttin' his hogs 
up in pen, he '11 teck you up," said Lucy Ann, in 
her usual teasing way. 

This was too much for the boys to stand after all 
they had done. Uncle Balla must be right. They 
would have to admit it. The hogs must have be- 
longed to some one else. And their Mother was 
in such desperate straits about meat ! 

Lucy Ann's last shot, about catching Mr. Hall's 
hogs, took effect ; and the boys agreed that they 
would go out some afternoon and pull the pen down. 

The next afternoon they took their guns, and 
started out on a squirrel-hunt. 

They did not have much luck, however. 

" Let 's go by there, and pull the old pen down," 
said Frank, as they started homeward from the far 
side of the woods. 

" It 's out of the way, — let the old thing rip." 

" We 'd better pull it down. If a hog were to 
be caught there, it would n't do." 

"I wish he would ! — but there ain't any hogs 
going to get caught," growled Willy. 

" He might starve to death." 

This suggestion persuaded Willy, who could not 
bear to have anything suffer. 

So they sauntered down toward the swamp. 

As they approached it, a squirrel ran up a tree, 
and both boys were after it in a second. They 
were standing, one on each side of the tree, gazing 
up, trying to get a sight of the little animal among 
the gray branches, when a sound came to the ears 
of both of them at the same moment. 

" What 's that ? " both asked together. 

"It 's hogs, grunting." 

"' No, they are fighting. They are in the swamp. 
Let 's run," said Willy. 

"No; we'll scare them away. The)- may be 
near the tra]5," was Frank's prudent suggestion. 
" Let 's creep up." 

"I hear young pigs squealing. Uo you think 
they are ours ? " 

The squirrel was left, flattened out and trembling 
on top of a large limb, and the boys stole down the 
hill toward the pen. The hogs were not in sight, 
though they could be heard grunting and scuffling. 
They crept closer. Willy crawled through a thick 
clump of bushes, and sprang to his feet ^\■ith a 
shout. " We 've got 'em ! — we 've got 'em ! " he 
cried, running toward the pen, followed by Frank. 

Sure enough ! There they were, fast in the pen, 
fighting and snorting to get out, and tearing 
around with the bristles high on their round backs, 
the old sow and seven large young hogs ; while a 
litter of eight little pigs, as the boys ran up, 
squeezed through the rails, and, squealing, dashed 
away into the grass. 

The hogs were almost frantic at the sight of the 
boys, and rushed madly at the sides of the pen ; 
but the boys had made it too strong to be broken. 

After gazing at their capture awhile, and piling 
a few more outriders on the corners of the pen to 
make it more secure, the two trappers rushed 
home. They dashed breathless and panting into 
their mother's room, shouting, " We 've got 'em ! 
— we 've got 'em ! " and, seizing her, began to 
dance up and down with her. 

In a little while the whole plantation was aware 
of the capture, and old Balla was sent out with 
them to look at the hogs and make sure they did not 
belong to some one else, — as he insisted they did. 
The boys went with him. It was quite dark when 


he returned, but as he came in, the proof of the For some time afterward he would every now 

boys' success was written on his face. He was on and then break into a chuckle of amused content 

a broad grin. To his mistress's inquiry he replied, and exclaim, "Them 's right smart chillern." 

"Yes, 'm, they 's got 'em, sho' 'nough. They 's And at Christmas, when the hogs were killed, this 

the beatenes' boys ! " was the opinion of the whole plantation. 

C To he contiiuied. ) 

By E. Cavazza. 

Naidihis ! O Nautilus .' 
Why sail you on the main ? 

1 go to bring the Fairy King, 
To come to his own again. 

They broke in two his royal wand. 
And took his crown away, 

And drove him forth from Fairyland 
For a thousand years and a day." 

O Nautilus I O Nautilus / 
Whereof is made thy sail ? 

" Of a roseleaf white, and a thread of light 
That was spun from a moonbeam pale ; 
The rudder that steers iny ship so fast 

Was a thorn of a red, red rose ; 
And on spider's cordage I climb the mast 
When the wind of the ocean blows." 




O Natttihis / O Nautilus ! 
And wlio are you, yourself ? 

" The son of a fay of the land, they say, 

And of a water-elf 
Oh ! the veil and the gown of mother mine 

Were woven of mist so thin ; 
Through her wedding-ring, so small and fine, 

You could not thrust a pin." 

O Nautilus ! O Nautilus .' 
How %vill you find your way ? 

" I do not know ; I sail to and fro 
For a thousand years and a day. 

But when that day is done, no doubt, 
I shall find the Fairy King, 

And the fairy folk will dance and shout. 
And the bells of their land will ring ! " 

Mary E. Vandyne. 

" Are you quite sure that I can leave you safely, 
my pet ? " 

" Yes, indeed, Mamma ! " 

"You will play very quietly about the house 
and grounds, and do whatever Madame tells you ?" 

" Surely I will. And you know, Mamma, that 
I shall have Aimee to take care of me. You have 
no idea how good she is ; and then, you know, she is 
ever and ever so much older than I am, and she 
has always lived here and knows everything about 
the place." 

Mrs. Anderson smiled. She quite shared her 
little girl's admiration for Aimee St. Germain, their 
good landlady's niece, and felt that Flossie would 
be safe in the care of the quiet little French maid- 
en. But she felt some little uneasiness, never- 

In the first place, Aimee was only twelve years 
old; while Flossie was ten and had truly American 
ideas of independence, gained from living in a 
New England village where everybody knew 
"the Squire's little girl," and where she was 
quite as safe rambling about the streets or straying 
by the little brook that babbled loudly in spring 
and dried up to nothing during August, as she was 
in the old nursery at the Hall. 

But ill-health and a father's anxiety had made 
Flossie and her mother exiles from their New Eng- 
land home, and they were now living in a roman- 
tic villa beside the blue Mediterranean, not far 
from Nice, and just at the foot of a shaded hill 
whose green slopes were a delicious playground 
for Flossie and a very mine of strength to her 



It was the morning of Corpus Christi. There 
were to be many gorgeous ceremonies in the 
cathedral at Nice, for this is a great festival of 
the Church ; and Mrs. Anderson would not have 
left her daughter, but she had received word 
that a friend of hers had just arrived at the Hotel 
des Anglais, in that city, and was anxious to see 
her. She did not wish to take Flossie with her, 
for it was quite a fatiguing journey, and Mrs. 
Anderson thought her little girl would be safer 
at home, considering the crowd, the heat, and the 
confusion. On the other hand, it was not a good 
day to leave the child alone, as nearly all the 
boarders were going into the city, and the villa 
would be quite deserted. 

" Aimee will take charge of ze leetle girl — sure- 
ly, sure-ly," echoed Madame, who had happened to 
overhear their conversation. 

And so it was arranged. The carriage arrived 
early for Mrs. Anderson; the rest of the boarders 
left for Nice ; Madame started out on her daily 
shopping tour among the vegetable-farmers and 
trades-people, and by noon the two little girls were 
left almost in sole possession. Deaf old Jean, the 
gardener, and Marianne, the cook, who spoke a 
dreadful patois that Madame alone understood, 
were the only others about the villa. 

" Where shall we go, Aimee? " inquired Flossie, 
who was the restless one of the little couple. 

"Into ze garden, u'est ce pas?^'' answered the 
little maid, whose soft brown eyes and sweet, firm 
mouth already indicated the self-control of a 
mature woman. 

Flossie readily agreed, and they soon established 
themselves under a beautiful big tree. 

Little folk who have never had foreign playmates 
or friends, or lived abroad, can not realize how 
many entertaining things these two little ones had 
to talk about. 

Flossie had told Aimee a thousand things about 
her life in New England ; she had pictured the 
great snow-storms, the rushing rivers, the ponds 
of smooth ice that one could run about on, for 
months and months, as safely as upon solid ground ; 
the great Thanksgiving feast, with its meeting of 
uncles, aunts, and cousins ; the cookies and the 
gingerbread, the skating and the sleighing, all of 
which were new to the little French girl. 

And Aimee had much to tell Flossie. Every 
nook and corner of her beloved France had some 
legend connected with it, and with these Aimee 
was familiar. Then she knew how to do many 
things that were new to Flossie. Her little fingers 
were very deft, and at the convent where she was 
educated, the good sisters had taught her how to 
make most wonderful embroidery. With her little 
pillow on her lap, she would weave the daintiest and 

costliest lace, such as Flossie had seen in the great 
stores in America. The threads were so delicate, 
the patterns so intricate, and the labyrinth of pins, 
through which Aimee guided her regiment of bob- 
bins, so bewildering, that Flossie could only sigh 
with hopeless admiration, as she saw the agile 
fingers move. 

Aimee proposed to her little companion that 
they should take a run about the garden. 

" Aimee," cried Flossie, as the two girls paused 
on a knoll whence they could look a long distance 
out upon the road, " what is that old ruined build- 
ing, 'way over there?" 

Aimee smiled. " It is the remains of a beauti- 
ful villa built very long ago by a very rich gentle- 
man from your country, — no ! England, — I always 

" Do you think we might run and look at it ? " 

" It would be a long run. And see, Flossie, the 
air is so hot and still. There are black clouds 

" You don't mean rain ? " 

Aimee shook her head. 

'■ No, not rain." 

" Well, then, let us go." Flossie held her com- 
panion tightly by the hand, and was drawing her 
along the path toward the old ruin. 

"But, if anything should happen." 

" What could happen ? " 

" 1 don't know, exactly," Aimee answered, in a 
hesitating manner, still allowing Flossie to lead her. 

Aimee was thinking of a conversation between 
her aunt and a friend, which she had overheard the 
evening before, but did not care to tell Flossie 
about it, fearing to frighten the little one. 

The girls went toward the villa, and, after quite 
a long walk, they found themselves in front of the 

" Oh, what a beautiful garden ! " 

"Yes," said Aimee, smiling. 

"And see," cried Flossie, "the doors are quite 
gone, and I can see inside the rooms. Oh, what 
beautiful pictures those are, on the walls ! " 

Flossie was not familiar with frescoed walls and 
these paintings, even in tlieir ruined state, seemed 
very strange and very beautiful to her. 

Aimee was anxiously watching the sky. There 
was a peculiar stillness in the air, and, on the hori- 
zon, banks of black clouds were heaped one upon 
another. Suddenly she missed Flossie from her 

" Where are you, petite, where are you ? " she 
called. Flossie did not reply. Suddenly there 
was a low moaning sound, as if the wind were sigh- 
ing amid the trees. But — there was no wind ! 

Just as Aimee noticed this, a dull rumble seemed 
to come from the neighboring hills. Then there 




was silence, followed by a hoarse, low growl, as if 
some great monster enchained in the woods shook 
the air. Instinctively Aimee clasped her hand to 
her heart and again loudly called Flossie by 

But still there was no answer ; only the sighing 
of those motionless trees, and again the hoarse, 
low rumbling, followed by a tremulous motion of 
the earth beneath her feet. 

"It has come," screamed the girl. "Oh, 

the ground ; they fastened them upon great rocks 
and they strengthened them by broad arches so 
that when the earth trembled they should be as 
secure as possible, But many, very many, years 
had since passed. Many towns on the shores of 
the blue Mediterranean had been visited and 
destroyed by earthquake shocks ; yet no such 
calamity had befallen the beautiful cities of south- 
ern France. Of late, wiseacres had foretold that 
the shocks would come soon again. But the in- 


Flossie, Flossie, vioii enfant, ma petite, on es-tu ? 
oil es-tu ? " 

In her excitement Aimee spoke her native 

There was no reply. She turned and looked at 
the walls of the house behind her. Should she 
enter? Dare she enter? Flossie had gone into 
the building — and now the earthquake had come ! 
No place was so unsafe. The walls were old and 
moldered by time, and half shaken to pieces by 
former earthquakes. 

Last night, ancj, many times before, Aimee had 
heard stories of earthquakes, for the beautiful 
Riviera often had been visited by these calamities. 
In olden times people built their houses low upon 

habitants had not been frightened by the warnings 
and little or no precautions had been taken. 

But where was Flossie? Some minutes had 
passed since she had entered the ruin. Why had 
she not heard Aimee's call? Had she been deaf 
to the strange voice of the wind? Had she not 
seen the darkened sky or felt the trembling of the 
walls about her, of the ruined floor beneath her 

With one timorous glance at the broken ceiling 
above her head, the wide seams and gaps in the 
tottering walls, the half-dislodged blocks of stone 
all ready to fall, Aimee sprang within the arch- 
way. A sweet voice, crying "Peep!" attracted 
her attention, and with one bound she reached the 



staircase. Flying up the broken, half-ruined steps, 
she caught sight of Flossie's little form in a re- 
mote corner. As swiftly as possible she crossed 
the apartment, and clasped the little girl in her 
arms. At this moment another low rumbling 
sound filled the air. 

Flossie had fancied that she saw her way to a 
capital game of " hide-and-seek." This had made 
her ignore Aimee's call, and the walls of the 
chateau had prevented her from noticing the 
darkened sky. Of the noise she thought little. 
A very tiny clap of thunder would have sounded 
much louder. 

Aimee, grasping Flossie's wrist, drew her toward 
the head of the staircase, crying in her ear mean- 
while : 

" Hurry, hurry, it is an earthquake ! " 

Had she not spoken they might have escaped 
from the building. But at this word Flossie was 
startled, lost her footing and fell. The sudden 
weight upon her hand loosened Aimee's grasp. 
The little girl rolled sideways, and over the un- 
guarded side of the staircase ! 

Aimee saw the fall, and as the little form disap- 
peared a cry of anguish burst from her lips. But 
no mortal ear heard, or could have heard it, for 
with a voice of muffled thunder the solid earth 
heaved and writhed beneath their feet, the walls 
shook, and groaned, and fell about them, stones 
were hurled here and there, and over all settled a 
cloud of thick dust which it was impossible to see 
through, or to breathe. 

After the shock there was a strange silence, 
broken only by the occasional rattle of a loose 
stone, here and there, or the settling of the ruined 
masses into a closer heap. 

Aimee lay upon the stone staircase, breathless 
and powerless, but unhurt. For a moment she 
was too frightened even to move. Then she sat 
up and tried to look about her. 

What made it so dark? Try as she might, she 
could not see anything. She called Flossie. 

No answer came, but in the course of a few 
minutes Aimee fancied she could hear a low sob- 
bing. She called louder and was answered by the 
child's voice : 

" Here I am, Aimee, here ! " 

Sore and bruised as she was, Aimee could move 
without difficulty, and creeping carefully down the 
steps, made her way to Flossie's side. The child 
flung both arms about her, and for a few moments 
they could do nothing but sob in each other's 

" Are you hurt, Flossie ? " 
" Oh yes, yes ! " 

" My arm. Oh ! it is so sore, and my head ! — it 

hurts me so ! Oh, Aimee, what has happened ? 
Are we killed ? What makes it so dark ? " 

Aimee felt the poor head very carefully and 
found that it was only bruised. The arm was wet 
with something she knew must be blood ; but 
Flossie could move it. So, fortunately, it was not 

Tearing her handkerchief into strips, Aimee 
bound the injured limb as well as she could and 
then gathered the little one closer in her arms. 

Yes, the earthquake had come. It was probably 
not very severe, for if it had been, they must have 
been killed. But the wall of the old chateau had 
fallen and had made them prisoners in the dark- 

" But, if we look aljout, shall wc not find a way 
out ? " asked Flossie. 

Aimee's voice trembled. " I am afraid not, but 
we will try. First let us thank God for saving us 
from a dreadful death." 

"Yes, indeed, indeed we will," was Flossie's 
reply. " And Aimee, we will ask Him to show us 
a way out and let us go home. Oh, Mamma ! 
Mamma ! " 

In the darkness, surrounded by the fallen debris 
and nearly suffocated with the dust, the two little 
girls knelt, and the prayer was said. Soon after 
Flossie buried her head in Aimee's breast, and 
cried bitterly for her Mamma. 

And now began a long, sad vigil. Aimee re- 
membered the stories she had heard of good men 
and women in prison, who had suffered from priva- 
tion of every kind, and some of whom had died 
before they were released. Suddenly a thought 
struck her. They had nothing to eat or drink ! 
Would they sit there, clasped in each other's arms 
until they grew hungry and faint, and finally un- 
conscious, and died of starvation or thirst ? Oh, the 
idea was too dreadful ! Her little lips trembled, 
and the prayers she was trying to say became very 

What were the chances of their being rescued ? 
How soon would they be missed ? In the dreadful 
confusion the earthquake must have caused, who 
would think to look for them ? No one knew they 
had come to the old chateau. It was only an old 
ruin. Excursionists came sometimes, or travelers 
from abroad, and now and then a peasant would 
seek the shade of the ruined walls as he rested 
from his labors in the neighboring fields. 

And even if the people knew they were there, 
how long would it take to dig away those terrible 
masses of stone and cement that had filled the old 
doorway? How deeply were they buried in the 
old ruin ? How thick was the barrier that lay 
between them and the light of day, the beautiful 
outside world, and home, and love ? 




Aimee sat very quietly, thinking. Flossie had 
sobbed herself to sleep in the darkness, and lay 
dreaming of Mamma and home, with her head in 
Aimee's lap. Suddenly Aimee fancied that she 
heard the sound of water. She listened intently. 
Yes, surely, it was water. Then she remembered 
that she had heard there was a spring near the old 
chateau. Yes, but not within it. What did that 
low ripple mean ? 

Of course it was impossible for Aimee to know 
that what seems almost a miracle had been worked 
in behalf of the little prisoners. The earthquake, 
in its course, had so shaken the rocks and the 
ground about the spring, that the course of its 
waters was changed, and a portion of the tiny 
streamlet flowing from it, now ran through a 
chink in the castle wall, and was dripping from a 
ledge not far from where she sat. And not only 
did the stream come to her, but it told her where 
it was. The quiet drip, drip, seemed to be call- 
ing, "Aimee," "Aimee"; and when, presently, 
Flossie awoke and cried for water, she was able to 
help the little girl to crawl within its reach. Drop 
by drop it fell into their little upturned mouths, 
and the agonies of thirst were averted. 

The hours passed slowly, and again Flossie fell 
asleep. This time Aimee slept, too. Of course 
they both were hungry, and, as hungry people do, 
they dreamed of food. All at once, Aimee awoke 
with a start. She had been dreaming of her little 
sewing-basket, and of the luncheons she used to 
pack into it, when she started for her convent- 
school. And surely she had packed a luncheon, 
when she and Flossie went out in the garden that 
morning ! That had been part of their plan — to 
have a little tea-party in the garden. 

But the basket — she had brought it with her 
to the chateau. But what then ? Did she have it 
in her hand as she sprang into the ruin in search 
of Flossie ? She could not remember. But if she 
did, where would it be now? Where had she 
dropped it vvhen she seized the child, just before 
that terrible crash came ? 

Aimee lay still and thought a long while, not 
daring to move lest she might disturb Flossie. 
Then she became so strongly impressed with the 
idea that she had let the little basket drop from 
her hand as she sprang up the staircase in answer 
to Flossie's cry, that she ventured to put the little 
girl's head from her lap to the ground. This did 
not wake Flossie, and, after a few moments of anx- 
ious search, Aimee felt the basket in her hand. 

Yes, it was safe. She had it ! — and there was 
the precious luncheon ! There were in the basket 
three small sandwiches, three boiled eggs, and one 
piece of cake. 

Aimee hugged the treasure to her bosom. Yes, 

they had food and drink; they need not die — yet. 
But, oh, it was so little ! 

Aimee took the first sandwich in her hand. 
Flossie was sleeping. It was better for her to 
sleep. She would eat a little, and then feed 
Flossie when she woke. Aimee's teeth had nearly 
closed over the bread, when her conscience smote 

" There is so little, so little. If 1 eat any there 
will be less for Flossie. Oh, ought I — should I — 
must I give it all to her .'' " 

At this thought the hungry little girl burst into 

"But it is what the good saints would have 
done. Flossie is so little. 1 can bear hunger longer 
than she ! " 

Aimee sat down upon the ruined stairs, and 
thought and thought, longer than ever. 

" No one knows how long we may be imprisoned 
here. Madame Anderson, — if the earthquake has 
not destroyed her, — will soon go back to the villa, 
and Tante Celeste will tell her that we are not there. 
But why do I talk of the villa and Tante Celeste ? 
Who knows whether the dear house is still there, 
or if Tante Celeste is still among the living?" 

Aimee bowed her head and the tears flowed 
down her cheeks. 

It was so dark that the waking child could not 
tell whether it was night or day. Finally, after 
many hours spent in anxious thought, she said to 
herself : 

" I think I know now what I ought to do. We 
have very, very little food. If it is divided and eaten 
sparingly it might last us several days. But it 
would not do for me to give it all to Flossie. She 
is so little that she would not control herself, and 
at the first meal she would eat it all. No ; I will 
divide it so as to give her two-thirds and I will eat 
one-third. Then I shall keep my strength, and we 
shall live as long as possible. Oh! if they will 
only think to search for us here — if they only will ! 
It is so hard to die — so hard ! " 

In a little time Flossie awoke. Then Aimee 
told her of their situation, and of the little food they 
had, and how they must make it last as long as 
they could. 

Oh, how dreary it was ! The little ones dragged 
themselves about and explored every part of the 
strange piison; they talked long and sadly about 
home and friends, and tried in every way to make 
the slow, dismal hours pass. 

Aimee's hardest task was to keep Flossie from 
devouring their little store of food. She became 
so very hungry, and she begged for it so piteously. 
Before a day had passed Aimee had abandoned 
her plan of eating one-third as much as she al- 
lowed Flossie, and contented herself with a few 




crumbs from the allowance she doled out to the Flossie; Aimee hnd eaten nothing at all. They 

little girl. Fortunately, there was plenty of water, had ceased to talk to each other. Both lay pros- 
trate on the stone floor. 

Four days had passed. Flossie had grown very Suddenly Flossie heard what sounded to her like 

sick and wretched, but poor Aimce's strength was strong, powerful blows falling upon the outside 

quite exhausted. Their food was all gone. This wall of their prison-house, 

morning there had been but a few crumbs for " Aimee !" she cried, "Aimee!" 



There was no answer. Aimee had become un- 

Flossie listened again. Yes, surely some one 
was coming to their rescue. Some one was digging 
a way through that terrible mass of dust and stone 
in order to set them free. But what was the mat- 
ter with Aimee? It was in vain that Flossie called 
to her, shook her, rubbed and chafed her face and 
hands, — there was no sign of life anywhere in the 
little frame. 

But still the sound of blows continued. Oh, 
how eagerly Flossie listened ! How her heart 
throbbed as they came nearer and nearer ! Soon she 
felt the air around her fill with dust again, as it had 
at the moment of the earthquake. Then there was 
■ a movement among the masses of earth and stone 
at her side. Soon there was a streak of daylight 
making its way amid the darkness; and then — 
then, in response to her own wild shriek of joy and 
gladness, came a reply in the voice she knew so well : 

" Florence, my child, my child ! Are you liv- 
ing? Are you hurt? " 

Such happiness seemed almost too much to 
bear. Mrs. Anderson fell fainting into the arms 
of a peasant woman ; and not until the laborers had 
removed the fearful masses of stone and wreck that 
held the children imprisoned, and brought them 
into the light of day, did she recover. Then 
Flossie's arms were about her, and mother and 
child were clasped to each other's hearts. 

The first care of all was to rc\'i\'e Aimee. She 
had been so faithful to her resolve that Flossie did 
not even know that her friend had nearly starved 
so that she might live. 

It was hard at first to find a physician, so busy 
were they all among tlie sufferers by the terrible 
earthquake shock. But at last one came, and by 
his skill Aimee was brought back to the world she 
had so nearly left for ever. Lying in Tante Celeste's 
white bed, she was soon able to take the delicate 
broth they brought her, and to help Flossie tell 
the dreadful story of their imprisonment. 

The town of Nice had been almost destroyed 
by the earthquake. Mrs. Anderson was chatting 
with her friend in the dining-room of the hotel, 
when the first trcmblemcnt dt; /ern- occurred. They 
had rushed out, only just in time to see the great 
building fall to the ground, and to witness the 
destruction of a great part of the beautiful city ! 
Wild with anxiety, Mrs. Anderson had secured 
the first carriage she could find, and had made 
her way to the villa in search of Flossie. She 
had found her home intact, but her child was — 
gone ! 

It was a sad story, — that of the search made by 
Mrs. Anderson and Tante Celeste, among the 
injured and the killed, for their two little ones. 
Only by acfident was their whereabouts revealed 
at last. Flossie's parasol, and the marks of tiny 
feet in the road to the old chateau, showed that 
the girls had wandered there during some part of 
the day. Mrs. Anderson insisted that the ruins 
should be searched, though she dared expect noth- 
ing but to find their crushed and mangled bodies. 

Their merciful deliverance from death was owing 
to the strong masonry of the tower of the chateau. 
Had they been in another part of the building 
they must have died. 

Aimee herself would never have told of the self- 
denial and anguish she had endured in her desire to 
prolong Flossie's life. But the good woman who 
presided over Tante Celeste's kitchen knew just 
how much food had been given the little girls, and 
Flossie's account of what she had eaten, together 
with Aimee's emaciated looks and fainting condi- 
tion, soon revealed the secret. 

" She is just a little saint," cried Tante Celeste, 
hugging her darhng to her bosom ; and Mrs. 
Anderson, clasping Flossie in her arms, echoed 
the cry. 

As for the two girls, nothing will ever disturb the 
friendship and devotion resulting from that terrible 
experience of darkness and privation during the 
great earthquake at Nice. 

By Margaret Deland. 

West wind that ruffles the sea into laughter and sparkle and spray; 
Skies blue as they can be ; white clouds across the bay ; 
And a thistle seed sailing over a field of blossoming clover, — 
That is a July day ! 


By Julia Magruder. 

The next day, when the aunts and uncles ar- 
rived, Aunt Deane brought her little daughter 
Lucy with her, "and Mrs. Tulliver had to look 
on with a silent pang while Lucy's blonde curls 
were adjusted. Maggie always looked twice as 
dark as usual when she was by the side of Lucy. 

" She did to-day, when she and Tom came in 
from the garden with their father and their Uncle 
Glegg. Maggie had thrown her bonnet off very 
carelessly, and, coming in with her hair rough as 
well as out of curl, rushed at once to Lucy, who 
was standing by her mother's knee. Certainly 
the contrast between the cousins was conspicuous, 
and, to superficial eyes, was very much to the dis- 
advantage of Maggie. ... It was like the con- 
trast between a rough, dark, overgrown puppy and 
a white kitten. Lucy put up the neatest little 
rosebud mouth to be kissed : everything about 
her was neat — her little round neck with the row 
of coral beads ; her straight little nose, not at all 
snubby ; her little clear eyebrows, rather darker 
than her curls, to match her hazel eyes, which 
looked up with shy pleasure at Maggie, taller by 
the head, though scarcely a year older. Maggie 
always looked at Lucy with delight. She was 
fond of fancying a world where the people never 
got any larger than children of their own age, and 
she made the queen of it just like Lucy, with a 
little crown on her head and a little scepter in her 
hand — only the queen was Maggie herself, in 
Lucy's form. 

" 'Oh, Lucy,' she burst out, after kissing her, 
' you '11 stay with Tom and me, won't you ? Oh, 
kiss her, Tom.' 

"Tom, too, had come up to Lucy, but he was 
not going to kiss her — no; he came up to her 
with Maggie because it was easier, on the whole, 
than saying ' How do you do ? ' to all those aunts 
and uncles. . . ." 

" ' Heyday ! ' said Aunt Glegg, with loud em- 
phasis. ' Do little boys and gells come into a room 
without taking notice o' their uncles and aunts? 
That was n't the way when / was a little gell.' 

" ' Go and speak to your aunts and uncles, my 
dears,' said Mrs. Tulliver, looking anxious and 
melancholy. She wanted to whisper to Maggie a 
command to go and have her hair brushed. 

"'Well, and how do you do? And I hope 
you 're good children, are you ? ' said Aunt 
Glegg, in the same loud emphatic way, as she 
took their hands, hurting them with her large 
rings, and kissing their cheeks, much against their 
desire. ' Look up, Tom, look up. Boys as go to 
boarding-schools should hold their heads up. 
Look at me now.' Tom declined that pleasure, 
apparently, for he tried to draw his hand away. 
' Put your hair behind your ears, Maggie, and 
keep your frock on your shoulder.' 

"Aunt Glegg always spoke to them in this loud 
emphatic way, as if she considered them deaf, or 
perhaps rather idiotic. ..." 

" ' Well, my dears,' said Aunt Pullet, in a com- 
passionate voice, ' you grow wonderful fast. 1 
doubt they '11 outgrow their strength,' she added, 
looking over their heads, with a melancholy expres- 
sion, at their mother. ' I think the gell has too 
much hair. I 'd have it thinned and cut shorter, 
sister, if I was you : it is n't good for her health. 
It 's that as makes her skin so brown, I should n't 
wonder. Don't you think so, sister Deane ? ' 

" ' I can't say, I 'm sure, sister,' said Mrs. Deane, 
shutting her lips close again, and looking at Maggie 
with a critical eye. 

" ' No, no,' said Mr. Tulliver, ' the child 's healtliy 
enough ; there 's nothing ails her. There 's red 
wheat as well as white, for that matter, and some 
like the dark grain best. But it 'ud be as well 
if Bessy 'ud have the child's hair cut, so as it 'ud 
lie smooth.' 

"A dreadful resolve was gathering in Maggie's 
breast, but it was arrested by the desire to know 
from her Aunt Deane whether she would leave 
Lucy behind ; Aunt Deane would hardly ever let 
Lucy come to see them. After various reasons for 
refusal, Mrs. Deane appealed to Lucy herself. 

'■'You wouldn't like to stay behind without 
mother, should you, Lucy ? ' 

" ' Yes, please, mother,' said Lucy, timidly, 
blushing very pink all over her little neck. 

" ' Well done, Lucy ! Let her stay, Mrs. Deane, 
let her stay,' said Mr. Deane. ..." 

" ' Maggie,' said Mrs. Tulliver, beckoning Mag- 
gie to her, and whispering in her car, as soon as 
this point of Lucy's staying was settled, ' go and 

Vol. XV.— 42. 

Mill on the Floss.' 




get your hair brushed — do, for shame. I told 
you not to come in without going to Martha first ; 
you know I did.' 

" ' Tom, come out with me,' whispered Maggie, 
pulling his sleeve as she passed him ; and Tom 
followed willingly enough. 

" ' Come upstairs with me, Tom,' she whispered 
when they were outside the door. ' There 's some- 
thing I want to do before dinner.' 

" ' There 's no time to play at anything before 
dinner,' said Tom. . . ." 

"'Oh yes, there is time for this — do come, 

"Tom followed Maggie upstairs into her mother's 
room, and saw her go at once to a drawer, from 
which she took out a large pair of scissors. 

" ' What are they for, Maggie ? ' said Tom, feel- 
ing his curiosity awakened. 

"Maggie answered by seizing her front locks 
and cutting them straight across the middle of her 

"'Oh, my buttons, Maggie, you'll catch it!' 
exclaimed Tom ; ' you 'd better not cut any more 

" Snip ! went the great scissors again while Tom 
was speaking ; and he could n't help feeling it was 
rather good fun ; Maggie would look so queer. 

" ' Here, Tom, cut it behind for me,' said Mag- 
gie, excited by her own daring, and anxious to 
finish the deed. 

" 'You '11 catch it, you know,' said Tom, nod- 
ding his head in an admonitory manner, and hesi- 
tating a little as he took the scissors. 

"'Never mind — make haste!' said Maggie, 
giving a little stamp with her foot. Her cheeks 
were quite flushed. 

" The black locks were so thick — nothing could 
be more tempting to a lad who had already tasted 
the forbidden pleasure of cutting the pony's mane. 
. . . One delicious, grinding snip, and then another 
and another, and the hinder locks fell heavily on 
the floor, and Maggie stood cropped in a jagged, 
uneven manner, but with a sense of clearness and 
freedom, as if she had emerged from a wood into 
the open plain. 

" 'Oh, Maggie,' said Tom, jumping round her, 
and slapping his knees as he laughed, 'Oh, my 
buttons, what a queer thing you look ! Look at 
yourself in the glass : you look like the idiot we 
throw our nutshells to, at school.' 

"Maggie felt an unexpected pang. She had 
thought beforehand chiefly of her own deliver- 
ance from her teasing hair and teasing remarks 
about it, and something also of the triumph she 
should have over her mother and her aunts by 
this very decided course of action : she did n't 
want her hair to look pretty — that was out of 

the question — she only wanted people to think her 
a clever little girl, and not to find fault with her. 
But now, when Tom began to laugh at her and 
say she was like the idiot, the affair had quite a 
new aspect. She looked in the glass, and still Tom 
laughed and clapped his hands, and Maggie's 
flushed cheeks began to pale and her lips to 
tremble a little. 

" ' Oh, Maggie, you '11 have to go down to din- 
ner directly,' said Tom. ' Oh my ! ' 

" ' Don't laugh at me, Tom,' said Maggie, in a 
passionate tone, with an outburst of angry tears, 
stamping, and giving him a push. 

"'Now, then, spitfire!' said Tom, 'what did 
you cut it off for, then ? ' I shall go down ; I can 
smell the dinner going in.' 

" He hurried down . . . but Maggie, as she 
stood crying before the glass, felt it impossible that 
she should go down to dinner and endure the severe 
eyes and severe words of her aunts, while Tom 
and Lucy, and Martha, who waited at table, and 
perhaps her father and her uncles, would laugh at 
her ; for if Tom had laughed at her, of course 
every one else would ; and if she had only let her 
hair alone, she could have sat with Tom and Lucy, 
and had the apricot pudding and the custard ! 
What could she do but sob ? " . . . 

" ' Miss Maggie, you 're to come down this 
minute,' said Kezia, entering the room hurriedly. 
'Lawks! what have you been a-doing? I niver 
see such a fright.' 

" ' Don't, Kezia,' said Maggie, angrily. ' Go 
away ! ' 

" ' But I tell you, you 're to come down. Miss, 
this minute; your mother says so,' said Kezia, 
going up to Maggie and taking her by the hand to 
raise her from the floor. 

" ' Get away, Kezia ; I don't want any dinner,' 
said Maggie, resisting Kezia's arm. ' I shan't 

" 'Oh, well, I can't stay. I 've got to wait at 
dinner,' said Kezia, going out again. 

" ' Maggie, you little silly,' said Tom, peeping 
into the room ten minutes after, ' why don't you 
come and have your dinner ? There 's lots o'' 
goodies, and mother says you 're to come. What 
are you crying for, you little spooney?' 

"Oh, it was dreadful ! Tom was so hard and 
unconcerned: if he had been crying on the floor, 
Maggie would have cried too. And there was the 
dinner, so nice; and she was so hungry. It was 
very bitter. 

" But Tom was not altogether hard. He was 
not inclined to cry, and did not feel that Maggie's 
grief spoiled his prospects of the sweets ; but he 
went and put his head near her, and said in a 
lower, comforting tone: 



" ' Won't you come then, Maggie ? Shall I bring 
you a bit o' pudding when I 've had mine? — and 
a custard and things ? ' 

" ' Ye-e-es,' said Maggie, beginning to feel life 
a little more tolerable. 

" 'Very well,' said Tom, going away. But he 
turned again at the door, and said, ' But you 'd 
better come, you know. There 's the dessert — 
nuts, you know — and cowslip wine.' 

" Maggie's tears had ceased, and she looked re- 
flective as Tom left her. His good-nature had 
taken off the keenest edge of her suffering, and 
nuts with cowslip wine began to have their effect 
upon her. 

" Slowly she rose from among her scattered locks, 
and slowly she made her way downstairs. Then she 
stood leaning with one shoulder against the frame 
of the dining-parlor door, peeping in when it was 
ajar. She saw Tom and Lucy with an empty chair 
between them, and there were the custards on a 
side-table — it was too much. She slipped in and 
went toward the empty chair. But she had no 
sooner sat down than she repented, and wished 
herself back again. 

" Mrs. Tulliver gave a little scream as she saw 
her, and felt such a 'turn' that she dropped the 
large gravy-spoon into the dish with the most 
serious results to the table-cloth. . . ." 

"Mrs. TuUiver's scream made all eyes turn to- 
ward the same point as her own, and Maggie's 
cheeks and ears began to burn, while Uncle Glegg, 
a kind-looking, white-haired old gentleman, said: 

" ' Heyday ! what httle gell 's this — why, I don't 
know her. Is it some little gell you 've picked up 
in the road, Kezia ? ' 

"'Why, she's gone and cut her hair herself,' 
said Mr. Tulliver in an under-tone to Mr. Deanc, 
laughing with much enjoym.ent." . . . 

" 'Why, little Miss, you 've made yourself look 
very funny,' said Uncle Pullet." . . . 

" ' Fie, for shame ! ' said Aunt Glegg, in her 
loudest, severest tone of reproof ' Little gells as 
cut their own hair should be whipped and fed on 
bread and water, and not come and sit down with 
their aunts and uncles.' 

" ' Ay, ay,' said Uncle Glegg . . . ' She must 
be sent to jail, . . . and they '11 cut the rest of her 
hair off there, and make it all even.' 

"'She 's more like a gypsy nor ever,' said 
Aunt Pullet, in a pitying tone ; ' it 's \'ery bad luck, 
sister, as the gell should be so brown — the boy 's 
fair enough. I doubt it '11 stand in her way i' life 
to be so brown.' 

"'She 's a naughty child, as '11 break her 
mother's heart," said Mrs. Tulliver, with tears in 
her eyes. 

" Maggie seemed to be listening to a chorus of 

reproach and derision. Her first flush came from 
anger, which gave her a transient power of de- 
fiance, and Tom thought she was braving it out, 
supported by the recent appearance of the pudding 
and custard. Under this impression, he whispered, 
' Oh my ! Maggie, I told you you 'd catch it ! ' 
He meant to be friendly, but Maggie felt con- 
vinced that Tom was rejoicing in her ignominy. 
Her feeble power of defiance left her in an instant, 
her heart swelled, and, getting up from her chair, 
she ran to her father, hid her face on his shoulder, 
and burst out into loud sobbing. 

"'Come, come, my wench,' said her father, 
soothingly, putting his arm round her, 'never 
mind ; you was i' the right to cut it off if it plagued 
you ; give over crying ; father '11 take your part.' 

" Delicious words of tenderness ! Maggie never 
forgot any of these moments when her father 'took 
her part ' ; she kept them in her heart, and thought 
of them long years after. ..." 

" With the dessert came entire deliverance for 
Maggie, for the children were told they might have 
their nuts and wine in the summer-house, since 
the day was so mild, and they scampered out 
among the budding bushes of the garden, with the 
alacrity of small animals getting from under a 

The next day it was arranged that Mrs. Tulliver 
should take the three children over to see Aunt 
and Uncle Pullet, as a means of celebrating the 
occasion of Lucy's visit. But " the day had begun 
ill with Maggie. The pleasure of having Lucy to 
look at, and the prospect of the afternoon visit to 
Garum Firs, where she would hear Uncle Pullet's 
musical-box, had been marred as early as eleven 
o'clock by the advent of the hair-dresser from St. 
Ogg's, who had spoken in the severest terms of 
the condition in which he had found her hair, 
holding up one jagged lock after another, and say- 
ing, ' See here ! tut-tut-tut ! ' in a tone of mingled 
disgust and pity, which to Maggie's imagination 
was equivalent to the strongest expression of public 

Then the tucker in which her mother dressed 
her was stiff and prickly, and made her feel so 
cross that she " would certainly have torn it off, if 
she had not been checked by the remembrance of 
her recent humiliation about her hair. " . . . Then, 
when they were all allowed to build card-houses 
" till dinner, as a suitable amusement for boys and 
girls in their best clothes," Maggie's would n't 
stand up, as Tom's and Lucy's did, and her tucker 
made her peevish, and Tom "laughed when her 
houses fell and told her she was ' a stupid.' 

"'Don't laugh at me, Tom!' she burst out, 
angrily ; ' I 'm not a stupid. I know a great many 
things you don't.' 





" ' Oh, I dare say, Miss Spitfire ! I 'd never be 
such a cross thing as you, making faces like that. 
Lucy does n't do so. I Uke Lucy better than you : 
/ wish Lucy was my sister. ' 

" 'Then it 's very wicked and cruel of you to 
wish so,' said Maggie, starting up hurriedly from 
her place on the floor, and upsetting Tom's won- 
derful pagoda. She really did not mean it," but 
Tom thought she did, and was very angry with 
her. " Thus the morning had been made heavy 
to Maggie, and Tom's persistent coldness to her 
all through their walk spoiled the fresh air and 
sunshine for her. He called Lucy to look at the 
half-built bird's nest without caring to show it to 

Maggie, and peeled a willow switch for Lucy and 
himself without offering one to Maggie. Lucy 
had said, ' Maggie, should n't yojt like one ? ' but 
Tom was deaf. 

" Still the sight of the peacock opportunely 
spreading his tail on the stack-yard wall, just as 
they reached Garum Firs, was enough to divert the 
mind temporarily from personal grievances. And 
this was only the beginning of beautiful sights at 
Garum Firs. All the farm-yard life was wonder- 
ful there — bantams, speckled and top-knotted; 
Friesland hens, with their feathers all turned the 
wrong way ; Guinea-fowls that flew, and screamed, 
and dropped their pretty-spotted feathers ; pouter- 



pigeons and a tame magpie ; nay, a goat, and a 
wonderful brindled dog, half mastiff, half bull-dog, 
as large as a lion. Then there were white railings 
and white gates all about, and glittering weather- 
cocks of various designs, and garden walks paved 
with pebbles in beautiful patterns — nothing was 
quite common at Garum Firs ; and Tom thought 
that the unusual size of the toads there was simply 
due to the general unusualness which character- 
ized Uncle Pullet's possessions as a gentleman 
farmer. Toads who paid rent were naturally 
leaner. As for the house, it was not less remark- 
able : it had a receding center, and two wings 
with battlemented turrets, and was covered with 
glittering white stucco." 

One of the first things that Maggie did on en- 
tering Aunt Pullet's beautifully kept house was to 
" let fall her cake, and in an unlucky movement 
crush it beneath her foot — a source of so much 
agitation to Aunt Pullet and conscious disgrace to 
Maggie, that she began to despair of hearing the 
musical snuff-box to-day, till, after some reflection, 
it occurred to her that Lucy was in high favor 
enough to venture on asking for a tune. So she 
whispered to Lucy, and Lucy, who always did 
what she was desired to do, went up quietly to her 
uncle's knee, and, blushing all over her neck 
while she fingered her necklace, said, ' Will you 
please play us a tune. Uncle ? ' 

" For the first time Maggie forgot that she had 
a load on her mind — that Tom was angry with 
her ; and by the time ' Hush, ye pretty warbling 
choir,' had been played, her face wore that bright 
look of happiness, while she sat immovable with 
her hands clasped, which sometimes comforted her 
mother with the sense that Maggie could look 
pretty now and then, in spite of her brown skin. 
But when the magic music ceased, she jumped up, 
and running toward Tom, put her arm round his 
neck and said, ' Oh, Tom, is n't it pretty ? ' " jerk- 
ing him so as to make him spill his cowslip wine 
that he held in his hand. 

" ' Look there, now ! ' " said Tom angrily. 

"'Why don't you sit still, Maggie?' her 
mother said, peevishly. 

" ' Little gells must n't come to see me if they 
behave in that way,' said Aunt Pullet. 

" ' Why, you 're too rough, little Miss,' said 
Uncle Pullet. 

" Poor Maggie sat down again, with the music all 
chased out of her soul, and the seven small demons 
all in again. 

" Mrs. Tulliver, foreseeing nothing but mis- 
behavior while the children remained indoors, took 
an early opportunity of suggesting that, now they 
were rested after their walk, they might go and 
play out of doors." . . . 

" All the disagreeable recollections of the morn- 
ing were thick upon Maggie, when Tom, whose 
displeasure toward her had been considerably re- 
freshed by her foolish trick of causing him to upset 
his cowslip wine, said, ' Here, Lucy, you come 
along with me,' and walked off to the area where 
the toads were, as if there were no Maggie in 
existence. . . . Lucy was naturally pleased that 
Cousin Tom was so good to her, and it was very 
amusing to see him tickling a fat toad with a 
piece of string when the toad was safe down the 
area, with an iron grating over him. Still Lucy 
wished Maggie to enjoy the spectacle also, especially 
as she would doubtless find a name for the toad, 
and say what had been his past history ; for Lucy had 
a delighted semi-belief in Maggie's stories about 
the live things they came upon by accident — 
how Mrs. Earwig had a wash at home, and one 
of her children had fallen into the hot copper, for 
which reason she was running so fast to fetch the 
doctor. Tom had a profound contempt for this 
nonsense of Maggie's, smashing the earwig at once 
as a superfluous yet easy means of proving the 
entire unreality of such a story ; for Lucy, for the 
life of her, could not help fancying there was some- 
thing in it, and, at all events, thought it was very 
pretty make-believe." 

So she turned affectionately to Maggie and in- 
vited her to come and look at the toad ; but Mag- 
gie was too hurt by Tom's neglect, and " as long as 
Tom seemed to prefer Lucy to her, Lucy made part 
of his unkindness. Maggie would have thought a 
little while ago that she could never be cross with 
pretty little Lucy any more than she could be cruel 
to a little white mouse ; but then, Tom had always 
been quite indifferent to Lucy before, and it had 
been left to Maggie to pet and make much of her. 
As it was, she was actually beginning to think 
that she should like to make Lucy cry by slapping 
or pinching her, especially as it might vex Tom, 
whom it was of no use to slap, even if she dared, 
because he did n't mind it. And if Lucy had n't 
been there, Maggie was sure he would have got 
friends with her sooner." 

After a while Tom grew tired of tickling the 
toad, and enticed Lucy away to the pond to look 
at the pike, although the children had been told 
not to leave the garden. Maggie could not bear 
to be left behind, so she followed. Presently Tom 
caught sight of something in the water, and called 
Lucy to look at it. " Maggie had drawn nearer 
and nearer — she inust see it too, though it was 
bitter to her like everything else, since Tom did 
not care about her seeing it. At last she was 
close by Lucy, and Tom, who had been aware of 
her approach but would not notice it till he was 
obliged, turned round and said: 




"'Now get away, Maggie. There's no room 
for you on the grass here. Nobody asked joii to 
come.' " Stormy passions were at war in Maggie 
at that moment . . . but the utmost she could do, 
with a fierce thrust of her small brown arm, was 
to push poor little pink and white Lucy into the 
cow-trodden mud." 

"Then Tom could not restrain himself, and 
gave Maggie two smart slaps on the arm as he 
ran to pick up Lucy, who lay crying helplessly. 
Maggie retreated to the roots of a tree a few yards 
off, and looked on impenitently." 

Great was the consternation at the house when 
Lucy was led in by Sally, the maid, to whom Tom 
had intrusted the message to his mother that it 
was Maggie who had pushed Lucy into the mud. 
He did not stay to give the account himself, fore- 
seeing " that Maggie would not be considered the 
only culprit in the case. . . . Mrs. Tulliver went 
out to speak to these naughty children, supposing 
them to be close at hand ; but it was not until after 
some search that she found Tom leaning with 
rather a hardened, careless air against the white 
paling of the poultry-yard, and lowering his piece 
of string on the other side as a means of exasperat- 
ing the turkey-cock." 

When Mrs. Tulliver discovered, in answer to 
her inquiries, that Tom had left Maggie at the 
pond, he was instantly dispatched to bring his 
sister to the house. In a short while Tom re- 
turned, saying Maggie was nowhere about the 
pond, and suggesting that she had probably gone 
home. Mrs. Tulliver, however, was thoroughly 
alarmed, and set about searching for Maggie in 
all sorts of impossible places. " What the father 
would say if Maggie was lost, was a question that 
predominated over every other. 

"Maggie's intentions, as usual, were on a larger 
scale than Tom had imagined. The resolution 
that gathered in her mind, after Tom and Lucy 
had walked away, was not so simple as that of 
going home. No ; she would run away and go to 
the gypsies, and Tom should never see her any 
more. That was by no means a new idea to Mag- 
gie ; she had been so often told she was like a 
gypsy, and 'half wild,' that when she was mis- 
erable it seemed to her the only way of escaping 
opprobrium, and being entirely in harmony with 
circumstances would be to live in a little brown 
tent on the commons ; the gypsies, she considered, 
would gladly receive her, and pay her much re- 
spect on account of her superior knowledge. She 
had once mentioned her views on this point to 
Tom, and suggested that he should stain his face 
brown, and they should run away together; but 
Tom rejected the scheme with contempt, observing 
that gypsies were thieves, and had hardly anything 

to eat, and had nothing to drive but a donkey. 
To-day, however, Maggie thought her misery had 
reached a point at which gypsydom was her only 
refuge, and she rose from her seat on the roots of 
the tree with the sense that this was a great crisis 
in her life ; she would run straight away till she 
came to Uunlow Common, where there would cer- 
tainly be gypsies, and cruel Tom, and the rest of 
her relations who found fault with her should never 
see her any more. She thought of her father as 
she ran along, but she reconciled herself to the 
idea of parting with him by determining that she 
would secretly send him a letter by a small gypsy, 
who would run away without telling where she 
was, and just let him know that she was well and 
happy, and always loved him very much.' " 

Maggie wandered on and on, and presently 
became conscious that she was hungry as well as 
tired. "At last, however, the green fields came 
to an end, and she found herself looking through 
the bars of a gate into a lane with a wide margin 
of grass on each side of it. . . . She had rushed 
into the adventure of seeking her unknown kin- 
dred, the gypsies; and now she was in this strange 
lane, she hardly dared look on one side of her, 
lest she should see the diabolical blacksmith in 
his leathern apron grinning at her with arms 
akimbo. It was not without a leaping of the heart 
that she caught sight of a small pair of bare legs 
sticking up, feet uppermost, by the side of a hill- 
ock ; they seemed something hideously preter- 
natural — a diabolical kind of fungus ; for she was 
too much agitated at the first glance to see the 
ragged clothes, and the dark shaggy head attached 
to them. It was a boy asleep ; and Maggie trotted 
along faster and more lightly, lest she should wake 
him : it did not occur to her that he was one of her 
friends the gypsies, who in all probability would 
have very genial manners. But the fact was so, 
for at the next bend in the lane Maggie actually 
saw the little semicircular black tent, with the blue 
smoke rising before it, which was to be her refuge 
from all the blighting obloquy that had pursued 
her in civilized life. She even saw a tall female 
figure by the column of smoke — doubtless the 
gypsy-mother, who provided the tea and other 
groceries ; it was astonishing to herself that she 
did not feel more delighted. But it was startling 
to find the gypsies in a lane, after all, and not on a 
common ; indeed, it was rather disappointing ; for 
a mysterious illimitable common, where there were 
sand-pits to hide in, and one was out of every- 
body's reach, had always made part of Maggie's 
picture of gypsy life. She went on, however, and 
thought with some comfort that gypsies most likely 
knew nothing about idiots, so there was no danger 
of their falling into the mistake of setting her down 




at the first glance as an idiot. It was plain she 
had attracted attention ; for the tall figure, who 
proved to be a young woman with a baby on her 
arm, walked slowly to meet her. Maggie looked 
up in the new face rather tremblingly as it ap- 
proached, and was reassured by the thought that 
her Aunt Pullet and the rest were right when they 
called her a gypsy, for this face, with the bright 
dark eyes and long hair, was really something like 
what she used to see in the glass before she cut 
her hair off. 

" ' My little lady, where are you going to ? ' the 
gypsy said, in a tone of coaxing deference. 

"It was delightful, and just what Maggie ex- 
pected : the gypsies saw at once that she was a 
little lady, and were prepared to treat her accord- 

" ' Not any farther,' said Maggie, feeling as if 
she were saying what she had rehearsed in a 
dream. 'I 'm come to stay v/ithyou, please.' 

"'That's pritty ; come, then. Why, what a 
nice little lady you are, to be sure,' said the gypsy, 
taking her by the hand. Maggie thought her very 
agreeable, and wished she had not been so dirty. 

" There was quite a group round the fire when 
they reached it. An old gypsy-woman was seated 
on the ground nursing her knees, and occasion- 
ally poking a skewer into the round kettle that 
sent forth an odorous steam : two small, shock- 
headed children were lying prone and resting on 
their elbows something like small sphinxes; and a 
placid donkey was bending his head over a tall 
girl, who, lying on her back, was scratching his 
nose and indulging him with a bite of excellent 
stolen hay. The slanting sunlight fell kindly 
upon them, and the scene was very pretty and 
comfortable, Maggie thought, only she hoped they 
would soon set out the tea-cups. Everything 
would be quite charming when she had taught 
the gypsies to use a washing-basin, and to feci an 
interest in books. It was a little confusing, though, 
that the young woman began to speak to the old 
one a language which Maggie did not understand, 
while the tall girl, who was feeding the donkey, 
sat up and stared at her without offering any salu- 
tation. At last the old woman said: 

" ' What, my pretty lady, are you come to stay 
with us ? Sit ye down, and tell us where you come 

"It was just like a story: Maggie liked to be 
called pretty lady and treated in this way. She 
sat down and said : 

"' ' I 'm come from home because I 'm unhappy, 
and I mean to be a gypsy. I '11 live with you, if 
you like, and I can teach you a great many 

"'Such a clever little lady,' said the woman 

with the baby, sitting down by Maggie, and allow- 
ing baby to crawl ; ' and such a pretty bonnet and 
frock,' she added, taking off Maggie's bonnet and 
looking at it, while she made an observation to the 
Old woman in the unknown language. The tall 
girl snatched the bonnet and put it on her own 
head hind-foremost witli a grin ; but Maggie was 
determined not to show any weakness on this sub- 
ject, as if she were susceptible about her bonnet. 

" ■ I don't want to wear a bonnet,' she said ; 
' I 'd rather wear a red handkerchief like yours ' 
(looking at her friend by her side) ; ' my hair was 
quite long till yesterday, when 1 cut it off; but 1 
dare say it will grow again very soon,' she added. 

Maggie had forgotten even her hunger at 
the moment in the desire to conciliate gypsy 

" ' Oh, what a nice little lady ! — and rich, I 'm 
sure,' said the old woman. ' Did n't you live in a 
beautiful house at home ? ' 

" ' Yes, my home is pretty, and 1 'm very fond 
of the river, where we go fishing ; but 1 'm often 
very unhappy. 1 should have liked to bring my 
books with me, but I came away in a hurry, you 
know. But I can tell you almost everything there 
is in my books. I 've read them so many times — • 
and that will amuse you. And 1 can tell you 
something about Geography too — that 's about 
the world we li\'e in — very useful and interesting. 
Did you ever hear about Columbus ? ' 

" Maggie's eyes had begun to sparkle and her 
cheeks to flush — she was really beginning to in- 
struct the gypsies and gaining great influence over 
them. The gypsies themselves were not without 
amazement at this talk, though their attention 
was divided by the contents of Maggie's pocket, 
which the friend at her riglit hand had by this 
time emptied without attracting her notice. 

" ' Is that where you live, my little lady ? ' said 
the old woman, at the mention of Columbus. 

"'Oh, no!' said Maggie, with some pity; 
' Columbus was a very wonderful man, who found 
out half the world, and they put chains on him, 
and treated him very badly, you know — it 's in my 
Catechism of Geography — but perhaps it's rather 
too long for me to tell before tea — : I want my 
tea so.' 

"The last words burst from Maggie, in spite of 
herself, with a sudden drop from patronizing in- 
struction to simple peevishness. 

"'Why, she 's hungry, poor little lady,' said 
the younger woman. ' Give her some o' the cold 
victual. You 've been walking a good way, I '11 
be bound, my clear. Where 's your home ? ' 

"'It's Dorlcote Mill — a good way off,' said 
Maggie. 'My father is Mr. Tulliver ; but we 
must n't let him know where I am, else he '11 fetch 




me home again. Where does the queen of the 
gypsies live ? ' 

" ' What ! do you want to go to her, my httle 
lady ? ' said the younger woman. The tall girl 
meanwhile was constantly staring at Maggie and 
grinning. Her manners were certainly not agree- 

" ' No,' said Maggie ; ' I 'm only thinking that 
if she is n't a very good queen you might be glad 
when she died, and you could choose another. If 
I was a queen, I 'd be a very good queen and kind 
to everybody.' 

" ' Here 's a bit o' nice victual, then,' said the 
old woman, handing to Maggie a lump of dry 
bread, which she had taken from a bag of scraps, 
and a piece of cold bacon. 

" ' Thank you,' said Maggie, looking at the food 
without taking it, ' but will you give me some 
bread and butter and tea instead? I don't like 

"'We've got no tea nor butter,' said the old 
woman, with something like a scowl, as if she were 
getting tired of coaxing. 

" ' Oh, a little bread and treacle would do,' said 

" ' We ha'n't got no treacle,' said the old woman 
crossly, whereupon there followed a sharp dia- 
logue between the two women in their unknown 
tongue, and one of the small sphinxes snatched at 
the bread and bacon, and began to eat it." 

Presently two men came up, looking so fierce 
and talking so roughly that Maggie was frightened 
and could hardly keep back her tears. The wo- 
men chattered with them, and they all seemed to 
be quarreling. 

" Maggie felt that it was impossible she should 
ever be queen of these people, or ever communi- 
cate to them amusing and useful knowledge. . . . 
At last the younger woman said, in her previous 
deferential, coaxing tone : 

" 'This nice little lady's come to live with us; 
are n't you glad ? ' 

" ' Ay, very glad,' said the younger, who was 
looking at Maggie's silver thimble and other small 
matters that had been taken from her pocket. . . . 
The woman saw she was frightened. 

" ' We've got nothing nice for a lady to cat,' 
said the old woman, in her coaxing tone, ' and 
she 's so hungry, sweet little lady.' 

" ' Here, my dear, try if you can eat a bit o' 
this,' said the younger woman, handing some of 
the stew on a brown dish with an iron spoon, to 
Maggie. ... If her father would but come by in 
the gig and take her up ! Or even if Jack the 
Giant-killer, or Mr. Greatheart, or St. George 
who slew the dragon on the half-pennies, would 
happen to pass that way ! But Maggie thought. 

with a sinking heart, that these heroes were never 
seen in the neighborhood of St. Ogg's." , . . 

" Her ideas about the gypsies had undergone a 
rapid modification in the last five minutes. From 
having considered them very respectful com- 
panions, amenable to instruction, she had begun 
to think that they meant perhaps to kill her as 
soon as it was dark, and cut up her body for gradual 
cooking : the suspicion crossed her that the fierce- 
eyed old man was in fact the devil, who might 
drop that transparent disguise at any moment and 
turn either into the grinning blacksmith, or else a 
fiery-eyed monster with dragon's wings." 

" 'What! you don't like the smell of it, my dear,' 
said the young woman, observing that Maggie did 
not even take a spoonful of the stew. ' Try a 
bit — come.' 

" ' No, thank you,' said Maggie, summoning all 
force for a desperate effort, and trying to smile in 
a friendly way. ' I have n't time, I think, it seems 
getting darker. I think I must go home now, and 
come again another day, and then I can bring you 
a basket with some jam tarts and nice things.' 

"Maggie rose from her seat . . . but her hope 
sank when the old gypsy-woman said, ' Stop a bit, 
stop a bit, little lady; we '11 take you home all 
safe, when we 've done supper : you shall ride 
home like a lady.' 

" Maggie sat down again, with small faith in 
this promise, though she presently saw the tall girl 
putting a bridle on the donkey, and throwing a 
couple of bags on his back. 

" ' Now, then, little Missis,' said the younger man, 
rising, and leading the donkey forward, ' tell us 
where you live — what 's the name o' the place ? ' 

" ' Dorlcote Mill is my home,' said Maggie, 
eagerly." . . . 

" ' What ! a big mill a little way this side o' St. 

"'Yes,' said Maggie. 'Is it far off? I think 
I should like to walk there, if you please.' 

" ' No, no, it '11 be getting dark ; we must make 
haste. And the donkey '11 carry you as nice as 
can be — you '11 see.' 

" He lifted Maggie as he spoke, and set her on 
the donkey. She felt relieved that it was not the 
old man who seemed to be going with her, but she 
had only a trembling hope that she was really 
going home. 

" ' Here 's your pretty bonnet,' said the younger 
woman, putting that recently despised but now 
welcome article of costume on Maggie's head ; 
' and you '11 say we 've been very good to you, 
won't you ? and what a nice little lady we said you 
was ? ' 

" ' Oh, yes, thank you,' said Maggie ; ' I 'm very 
much obliged to you. But I wish you 'd go with me 




too.' She thought anything was better than going 
with one of the dreadful men alone ; it would be more 
cheerful to be murdered by a larger party. "... 

" It now appeared that the man also was to be 
seated on the donkey, holding Maggie before him, 
and she was as incapable of remonstrating against 
this arrangement as the donkey himself, though 
no nightmare had ever seemed to her more hor- 
rible. When the woman had patted her on the 
back, and said ' Good-bye,' the donkey, at a strong 
hint from the man's stick, set off at a rapid walk 

— seemed to add to its dreariness: they had no 
windows to speak of, and the doors were closed : 
it was probable that they were inhabited by witches, 
and it was a relief to find that the donkey did not 
stop there. 

"At last — Oh, sight of joy! — this lane, the 
longest in the world, was coming to an end, was 
opening on a broad high road, where there was 
actually a coach passing ! And there was a finger- 
post at the corner: she had surely seen that finger- 
post before — ' To St. Ogg's, 2 miles.' 

"there was quite a group round the fire when they reached it." 

along the lane toward the point Maggie had come 
from an hour ago, while the tall girl and the rough 
urchin, also furnished with sticks, obligingly es- 
corted them for the first hundred yards, with much 
screaming and thwacking." 

It was a terrifying ride for poor Maggie. " The 
red light of the setting sun seemed to have a por- 
tentous meaning, with which the alarming bray 
of the second donkey with the log on its foot must 
surely have some connection. Two low thatched 
cottages — the only houses they passed in this lane 

" The gypsy really meant to take her home, 
then : he was probably a good man, after all, and 
might have been rather hurt at the thought 
that she did n't like coming with him alone. 

As they reached a cross-road, Maggie 
caught sight of some one coming on a white- 
faced horse. 

"'Oh, stop, stop!' she cried out. 'There's 
my father ! Oh, Father, Father ! ' 

" The sudden joy was almost painful, and before 
her father reached her she was sobbing. Great 




was Mr. Tulliver's wonder, for he had made a 
round from Basset, and had not yet been home. 

" 'Why, what 's the meaning o' this?' he said, 
checking his horse, while Maggie slipped from the 
donkey and ran to her father's stirrup. 

" ' The little miss lost herself, I reckon,' said the 
gypsy. ' She 'd come to our tent at the far end o' 
Dunlovv Lane, and I was bringing her where she 
said her home was. It 's a good way to come arter 
being on the tramp all day. ' 

"'Oh yes, Father, he's been very good to 
bring me home,' said Maggie. ' A very kind, good 

" 'Here, then, my man,' said Mr. Tulliver, tak- 
ing out five shillings. "It 's the best day's work 
yoii ever did. I could n't afford to lose the little 
wench ; here, lift her up before me.' 

"' Why, Maggie, how 's this — how's this?' he 
said, as they rode along, while she laid her head 

against her father and sobbed. ' How came you 
to be rambling about and lose yourself? ' 

"'Oh, Father,' sobbed Maggie, "I ran away 
because I was so unhappy — Tom was so angry 
with me. I could n't bear it. ' 

"'Pooh! pooh!' said Mr. Tulliver, sooth- 
ingly, ' you must n't think o' running away from 
father. What 'ud father do without his little 
wench ? ' 

" ' Oh no, I never will again, Father — never.' 

"Mr. Tulliver spoke his mind very strongly 
when he reached home that evening, and the effect 
was seen in the remarkable fact that Maggie never 
heard one reproach from her mother, or one taunt 
from Tom, about this foolish business of her run- 
ning away to the gypsies. Maggie was rather awe- 
stricken by this unusual treatment, and sometimes 
thought that her conduct had been too wicked to 
be alluded to." 

By Hui.dah Morgan. 

Bang, bang, went the pestle ; snap, snap, flew 
the coffee-kernels, over the kitchen floor, under 
the cupboard, back of the door; sliding, and trip- 
ping, and skipping, like so many little brown slip- 
pers off on a frolic, with no restraining feet to guide 

Such a kitchen for dancing : wide, and sunny, 
and shining — an old, old kitchen in an old, old 
house ! And the sun glared brightly through the 

low open windows ; and the tall clock in the corner 
looked down kindly, and did its best to tick off the 
promptings for the merry little reel. 

Bang, bang, bang; snap, snap, snap; and the 
heavy iron pestle sank stiffly back against the soft, 
fragrant mass. 

Two long legs which had been stretched out on 
the kitchen floor picked themselves up ; two brown 
hands, which had just let fall the black pestle, 




drubbed a tattoo on the table, and a clear, boyish 
voice burst out : 

" See the conquering he-e-ero comes ! 

Sou-ou-ound the trumpets, beat the drums" — 

And the owner of the legs, hands, and voice, 
looked cheerfully down at the brown fragments 
strewed about the floor. 

" Looks like a regular celebration. Guess 
there 's enough left, though ; " he peered scruti- 
nizingly into the mortar. " I put in a good charge 
this afternoon. No weak coffee for to-morrow." 
Then, with a sudden inspiration ; 

" Weak coffee is a sign of slaveree, 

None 's wanted in this land of hbertee." 

After which original burst of patriotism, the lips 
belonging to the \-oice puckered themselves up and 
went off whistling, accompanied by the legs and 

Now, you must know, that this was the eve of 
July 4, 1876. The long-legged boy knew it; the 
clock in the corner knew it ; and the sun, bless 
you, he knew it, too ! If you can keep a secret, 
the sun, and the clock, and I will take you into our 
confidence and tell you something that the long- 
legged boy did li't knov\'. 

Long ago, on another July night, in some year 
of our Lord (no matter which), in the days when 
the house with the sunny kitchen was not an old 
house, and when the clock that stood in the 
corner — though quite as tall as it ever became — 
was still young : just as the night was falling in a 
little New England village, there came rumbling 
up the street a fine yellow gig, drawn by an old, 
white horse. On through the gloom of the even- 
ing they came, horse, gig, and driver, past one 
candle-lighted home after another, until the old 
horse turned in and stood before the hospitable 
door of this house, which then was not old. Out 
through the open door floated the fragrance of 
newly baked biscuit ; and, within, one could catch 
the faint glimmer of coals on the kitchen hearth. 
There were oats and hay in the barn beyond, 
and — rest: a thing not to be despised by a 
country doctor's horse. It was a grateful sight to 
a worn man ; it was a tempting prospect to a hun- 
gry beast ; and the tired creature started impa- 
tiently onward as his master alighted. But the 
doctor hesitated and turned back, and the old 
horse, obedient to his word, stood still. 

And now the curtain rises upon our hero. It 
is not the doctor ; it is not the old white horse ; it 
is not to be even the boy with long legs. The 
curtain was a leather curtain, and the hero was of 
iron ; which fact, no doubt, accounts for the un- 
usual length of his heroic existence. The curtain 

hung from the gig-cushion, and the doctor lifted 
it and peered beneath it into that capacious and 
mysterious region familiarly known as " under- 
the-seat." There was a moment of groping and 
of subdued ejaculation on the part of the doctor, 
and then there came, bumping and thumping out 
upon the floor of the gig a heavy, black object, 
which he straightway shouldered and carried within. 
The old horse trotted off toward the barn ; but, if 
3'ou had ventured over the threshold after our hero, 
you would have found him in the office standing 
in state, surrounded by pill and powder, extract 
and elixir, — all the helps and hindrances that the 
knowledge of the times had brought to the little 
country doctor in his unpretentious struggle against 
suffering. Strong, heavy, and black, there stood 
a large iron mortar, with its ponderous pestle. 

Certainly. You have seen it before, in the 
sunny kitchen with the low windows; but, his- 
torically considered, this was its first appearance in 
the large house with the tall clock. And so long 
as the old doctor drove about in the yellow gig, 
blistering and bleeding his grateful patients, so 
long did the mortar and pestle stand faithfully at 
home, keeping guard over their less steadfast com- 
panions. But a time came when the days of the 
years of the good old doctor were told ; and then 
our hero was banished, with saddle-bags and medi- 
cine-chest, to a dark corner of the great garret. 

There it stood, year after year, until one day 
the boy with the long legs came upon it, dusty, 
and covered with webs which some ambitious 
spider had spun about it, thinking, perhaps, to 
chain fast this iron fortress for its own. But the 
boy, after the manner of many another investi- 
gator, soon found that the responsibilities of dis- 
covery are quite as great as its triumphs, and by 
no means so short-lived. For the first flush of 
interest in the new plaything had hardly faded, 
when, in an unlucky hour, a second discovery was 
made, and the young discoverer and the old hero 
found themselves copartners in the daily task of 
crushing the home-browned coffee. 

The amount of noise which that venerable mor- 
tar was capable of producing commanded a cer- 
tain degree of respect. In addition to this, even a 
short experience in life had taught Master Long- 
legs the interesting lesson that the possession of 
an intimate friend, upon whom one may work off 
all ill-humor, is a blessing greatly to be desired. 
Here was a comrade who might be pummeled by 
the hour without injury to his physique; a friend 
who responded sympathetically to noisy confi- 
dences; a companion from whom there was no fear 
of recrimination. Surely, it might have been worse ! 

Meanwhile, on this centennial eve, the hands on 
the old clock-face had not been idle; the sun had 




set; the moon had risen, and the shadows which 
all the long afternoon had slanted eastward now 
were turned toward the west. 

The boy with the long legs had stopped whis- 
tling and had assumed an air of supreme impor- 
tance. Evidently affairs of moment demanded his 
attention to-night. 

He had held numberless consultations with 
other boys, all of whom wore a like expression of 
importance. In a state of breathless excitement, 
he had mounted Old Dobbin, and had gone 
plunging down the street, upon some errand of 
great secrecy. On their return. Old Dobbin was 
observed to be in a similar state of breathlessness — 
due, probably, to excitement. 

Finally, with pockets full of fire-crackers and 
punk, the boy had presented himself at the closed 
door of an old red barn. Here he gave three 
loud raps, three low raps, and stood waiting. 
There was a fumbling within. Presently the door 
creaked, stuck on its hinges, then suddenly burst 
open. Straightway came the demand: 

" Friend or foe } " 

" Friend." 

" Countersign ? " 

"Lexington, Lundy's Lane, fit, bled, and died, 
ui, ne, quo, quin, and qiiomimis!" 

This countersign was admitted by all the boys to 
be a gem of its kind. As Bob, the sentinel, put it, 
" Tell you what, boys, she 's a regular little beauty, 
and about as safe as they make 'em. She ain't the 
sort of thing that a fellow 'd happen on by chance ! " 

Its accurate repetition seemed to give entire 
satisfaction on this occasion, for the sentinel an- 
nounced : 

"All right, fellows! Heave down the ladder, 
and let the Colonel up." 

But the ladder had made but half the descent 
from the loft above, when the door was pushed 
hurriedly open and a panting boy appeared. He 
crowded by the Sentinel, impatiently exclaiming: 

"Bother the countersign, Bob! I can't stop 
for all that stuff ! Where 's the General ? " 

The ladder struck the floor with a thump ; the 
head of the General appeared in a bar of moon- 
light which struck across the loft. 

"Here! What 's the matter ? " 

" Lots ! " was the brief reply. Other heads 
appeared, and from the darkness where heads 
could not be seen voices were heard. Evidently, 
the loft was a stronghold of some sort ; for in a 
moment it was alive with heads and voices ; voices 
of all keys, and heads of all ranks, to judge from 
the titles used. There were colonels, majors, cap- 
tains, lieutenants, ensigns, and — heralds ! — boys 
of every rank which a careful study of school his- 
tories could suggest. 

Sturdy New England boys they were; and, in 
all her wanderings, the moon had not looked upon 
a jollier and manlier set than those she was peer- 
ing down upon, in the loft of the old red barn 
on this night of July 3, 1876. 

Sam, the newcomer, was already half-way up the 
ladder. Eager hands pulled him over its project- 
ing top, the Colonel following close at his heels. 

"Now, Sam!" "Quick!" "What's up?" 
came from all sides. 

" Well," — ^an ominous pause followed, as if the 
news were too startling to be disclosed hastily — 
"Dr. Chapin says the bell shan't ring to-night. 
He doesn't care who tries it — ' up-streeter ' or 
' down-streeter ' — it 's all the same to him ! " 

Dr. Chapin! Were the skies falling? Good- 
natured Dr. Chapin ! Why, since first the bell 
was hung in the belfry of the village church, years 
and years ago, its patriotic tones had been the first 
in all the region to foretell the coming of each 
Independence Day ! Since the time when the gray- 
haired men of the town were boys with Dr. 
Chapin, no Fourth of July had come and gone 
without the gallant struggle between the boys 
living north of the church and the boys living 
south of the church to outwit each other, and first 
gain possession of the bell-rope. 

For years, as the midnight stroke had awakened 
the good people of the country-side to an en- 
forced contemplation of the privileges of American 
citizenship, they had turned wearily in their beds 
and vowed that this should be the last time that 
those boys should disturb their sleep. But when 
the morning came, and those boys, hungry and 
triumphant, came trooping home to breakfast ; 
when they reported that this year the down- 
streeters had been first at the rope ; or when 
young Sam told old Sam how he had outwitted 
young Bob, by very much the same stratagem 
through which old Sam had been circumvented by 
old Bob some thirty years before, — why, there 
was an end of the matter ! And, after all, there 
is but one Fourth of July in all the year, and hav- 
ing one's rest broken some night a year hence, is a 
matter of trival importance to-day. Three hun- 
dred and sixty-four nights of undisturbed slumber 
had always proved enough to efface the danger- 
ous memory of the three hundred and sixty-fifth. 
Back of all this, 1 suspect that no man had yet 
been found who was bold enough to face the boy- 
ish indignation that would be sure to follow his 
rebellion. Thus the matter had rested through 
two generations and part of another ; and thus the 
boys supposed that it would rest, perhaps forever! 

That there would be grumbling to-night, far 
and wide, when the tones of the bell were heard, 
was what the boys expected; but that any one 




would openly rebel and attempt to defraud them 
of their ancestral rights, was an evil of which 
they had not dreamed. And now the blow had 


there were many, had looked complacent ; the men, 
of whom there were few, had gazed admiringly. 
It was at this inspiring moment that Sam ap- 
peared with his startling 
report. " Prompt, deci- 
sive action," the General 
had glibly counseled a 
moment before. Most truly 
it was needed ; but what 
should that action be? 
The renewal of the yearly 
skirmish against the up- 
streeters was insignificant 
in comparison with a com- 
bat, wherein the good-na- 
tured doctor figured as 
their foe. 

"Oh, what nonsense!'' 
" April fool 's over, Sam ! " 
"What do you take us 
for ? " were the greetings 
hurled at the innocent 
bearer of the unwelcome 
news as he stood among 
them. Too crestfallen to 
reply, he drew from his 
pocket something that re- 
flected a dull glimmer in 
the moonlight. There was 
a shout of relief as he held 
it up. " The church key ! " 
" Knew you were fooling ! " 
"Good for you, Sam!" 
But Sam's attitude was 
anything but reassuring. 
"Where 's the other?" 
asked some one. " That 's 

fallen, dealt by the hand of their own familiar 
friend, — and that, too, in Centennial year! Do 
you wonder that there was dire dismay in the loft 
of the old red barn that night? 

The boys never knew — I doubt if Dr. Chapin 
himself ever knew — how he came to this bold 
determination. It may be that, to a thoroughly 
good-natured man, the novelty of an occasional 
ill-natured action is attractive. 

The down-streeters had held their meeting early 
to give them time to complete preparations for a 
strategic movement (so the General, its author, 
called it) designed to outwit the company of the 
up-streeters, and to gain for themselves a signal 
victory — in other words, a speedy ascent to the old 
belfry and the first pull at the bell-rope. Its success- 
ful accomplishment demanded, so the General had 
just told them, prompt, decisive action on the part 
of both officers and men. The officers, of whom 

just it!" burst out Sam. 
" This is only the inside key. Dr. Chapin says 
the outside key is where none of us will get it 
until five o'clock to-morrow morning." Five 
o'clock on a Fourth of July morning ! To hear 
the tumult that followed one would suppose that 
the glory of the national Stars and Stripes depended 
upon the ringing at midnight of the church-bell 
in this little New England village. 

The General, who had been sprawling on the 
hay in abject confusion since the arrival of this 
intelligence, now raised his head with a good- 
natured, "Come, fellows, shut up!" 

The inviting proposition apparently met with 
little favor, for the hubbub only increased. This 
was humiliating. The General sprang up astride 
a projecting beam. He looked about for some- 
thing with which to call the meeting to order. 

"Bob! Pitch up that rake ! " 

The Sentinel, who, regardless of the possible 




entrance of the foe, was balanced in a perilous 
position at the top of the ladder, chanced to hear 
the request, and obediently handed up his weapon. 
With this unwieldy mace, the General proceeded 
to pound " Order ! " at the same time emphasizing 
his commands with several well-aimed thrusts at 
the most noisy of the offenders within his reach. 

Gradually, by dint of frantic poundings and 
pokings, and because there seemed nothing to say 
further than to threaten the absent doctor with the 
most reckless kinds of revenge, the loft became 
tolerably quiet, and the boys turned their attention 
to their commanding officer. 

He still sat on the beam, warm but triumphant. 

"Well," reproachfully and with a final blow of 
the rake handle, " I should think you might keep 
still a minute and hear what a fellow 's got to say ! " 

" Yes," boldly echoed the Sentinel. "I '11 put 
the next fellow out of tlie fort, who can't keep 
quiet, and mind his own business ! " 

"You! Better put yourself there!" chuckled 
the Colonel, as there came a thundering knock at 
the barn-door. 

"Come, hurry up!" "Don't let 'em in!" 
" You 're a pretty sentinel ! " " Don't forget the 
countersign ! " followed the humiliated soldier in 
his rapid and reckless descent of the ladder. But 
whoever was without did not choose to take advan- 
tage of the unguarded state of the outposts, for 
the knocking continued. The Sentinel reached 
the door ; there was an animated parley for a few 
moments, and then came the report, "It 's Dick 
Hall from the up-streeters, with a flag of truce." 

The General hesitated ; military etiquette con- 
cerning the reception of flags of truce and their 
bearers was unknown to him. He had a suspicion 
that it would not be in accordance with the dignity 
of his position for him to go out to the messenger. 
To admit one of the enemy to the loft while every- 
thing was still in confusion would never do. 

Meanwhile the messenger waited. 

The General glanced questioningly around in 
the dim light ; then, with a desperate assumption 
of coolness, boldly commanded, "Bring in the 
flag, Sam." 

The gravity with which this request was heard 
was reassuring ; the General breathed more freely. 

Evidently, no one thought of objecting to this 
proceeding, the Sentinel least of all. He promptly 
showed himself at the open door with the demand, 
" Let 's have your flag, Dick ! " 

Dick's own knowledge of the ultimate destina- 
tion of flags of truce was quite as misty as the 
Sentinel's; but he had no notion of allowing 
military demand to interfere with personal right. 
The flag was his own handkerchief ; its staff, his 
popgun. So he stoutly replied, " Not much ! " 

"They always do," rejoined the Sentinel. 

To doubt this statement might be to show igno- 
rance of military measures ; that Dick would not 
do before a down-streeter. 

"Well," he admitted doubtfully, "take it; but 
be sure to bring it back. What are you going to 
do with it, though ? " 

The poor General, within, was intent on the 
same question ; but of that the Sentinel knew 
nothing as he witheringly replied, "Do with ii? 
Why, what they always do." 

The flag was promptly presented within. It had 
been used during the day to hold Dick's store of 
ammunition; and now, grimy, and with a strong 
odor of gunpowder, it seemed anything but a signal 
of peace. The boys gravely watched the ascent of 
this limp banner to the loft, feeling that a certain 
degree of respect was due it from its connection 
with such an important matter. They evidently 
shai'ed Dick's curiosity as to what was to be done 
with it, but they said nothing. 

It was a trying moment for the General ; but his 
honesty came to his rescue. 

" Well, boys," he frankly admitted, "I 'm up 
a stump ! What 's to be done with it ? " 

The gravity of the loft, which was fast becoming 
painful, vanished as the Colonel promptly sug- 
gested, " Wash it ! " 

This restored the General's presence of mind. 

" Here, you, Bob, take her back ! Colonel, you 
come along with me, and find out what 's wanted ! 
The rest of you fellows keep quiet, and get up a 
plan to beat the doctor ! " 

Five minutes went by and no feasible plan had 
been suggested ; ten minutes, and the General 
had not yet returned ; fifteen minutes, and the 
boys began to grumble ; twenty minutes, and the 
Colonel suddenly appeared among them. 

"Oh, boys, such larks!" and with an ecstatic 
whoop the Colonel mounted the ladder. After, 
came the commander-in-chief of the up-streeters, 
and behind him, pell-mell, all his devoted troops. 

" Three cheers for the up-streeters ! " shouted 
the General, who was bringing up the rear. 

" Whoop, whoop, hooray ! " roared the invading 
host, untroubled by any feelings of false modesty. 

" Hooray ! " feebly echoed the wondering boys 
in the loft, who (to prevent any possible misunder- 
standing) immediately added the threatening re- 
quest, " Say, want us to pitch into them ? " 

" No, no ! " shouted the General and Colonel. 

"Come on, if you want to!" invited the un- 
abashed up-streeters. 

"Hold on, can't you?" the General ordered, 
despairingly. " Just wait till you hear what 's up," 
and he scrambled up the ladder and once more 
mounted the executive beam. 




The boys were growing angry ; there was not a 
moment to lose. 

" Now, fellows, ki, yi ! Here 's to beat the doc- 
tor ! " and, with a swing of his hat, the General 
led oft". 

This was irresistible ; up-streeters and dovvn- 
streeters howled in company. 

" Now, then," demanded the General, seizing 
his chance, " are you ready ? " and, before any one 
had an opportunity to object, he had begun his 
speech. After that, curiosity kept the boys quiet 
while the Genera] explained affairs. 

He told them that a new foe had appeared, and 
old feuds must be forgotten ; the forces of the 
street must unite to defeat the doctor's unpatriotic 
demand. The up-streeters had a scheme, a scheme 
that he, himself, would have been proud to get 
up ; they invited the down-streeters to help put it 
through. Would they do it ? 

It was a very simple plot, as all successful plots 
are, I believe. A window with a broken lock in the 
church gallery, a tree just outside with a strong 
limb leaning down near to the window, and, to 
reach the limb, there was the doctor's brand-new 

The poetic justice of this last suggestion ap- 
pealed to their boyish imaginations, and a mighty 
shout went up when at last the General's speech 
was ended. 

Peace between the up-streeters and the down- 
streeters was declared on the spot. Then came a 
grand council of war, the once rival commanders 
conferring amicably in the loft. 

The hands of the old clock in the kitchen pointed 
to eleven, and the moon rode high in the heavens, 
when, with completed plans, the enthusiastic 
young belligerents marched peacefully over the 
quiet fields to the little white church. 

Doctor Chapin was sleeping — a quiet, restful 
sleep — when there came, trembling through the 
summer air, the muffled, uncertain first stroke of 
a bell tolled by unaccustomed hands. 

Doctor Chapin opened his eyes. "Imagina- 
tion ! — rubbish ! " and he smiled a grim smile to 
think that the habit of years had waked him on 
this July night. Doctor Chapin was something 
of a philosopher, and he reflected, This cer- 
tainly will make a good story for me to tell at the 
next meeting of the Connecticut Valley Medical 
Association ! " 

What Doctor Chapin thought next, I do not 
know. What he said next, I shall not tell : it was 
. not " Imagination ! — rubbish ! " — for, clear and 
full, there came, as if in contradiction of his 
thought, a second stroke, this time firm and 
even with the strength of many hands. 

I have it on the authority of an old owl, who 

was perched on a tree without, that, at the third 
stroke, the doctor appeared in the open window 
with an ejaculation of which a devout owl could 
not approve. It was at the eleventh stroke, the 
owl said, that the doctor's face brightened, and he 
gave a happy chuckle as he murmured to him- 
self, " I 've got it. I '11 be even with the young 
rascals yet ! " 

Seventy-six strokes they pulled, — some short, 
some long, some strong, some feeble, as different 
sets of boys relieved each other ; and then a line 
of dark figures came sliding one after another down 
the ladder. 

At two o'clock they were to come back again ; 
until that time there was other sport on hand. 
The window was closed, the ladder laid behind a 
fence, and the boys were off. 

Two o'clock came and with it came the boys, 
somewhat sleepy and ravenously hungry, but still 

There was a race for the church, a chase up the 
ladder, a rush for the bell-rope. 

" Now then, boys ! Here she goes ! " 

With a shout, they bent eagerly to the task ; 
but from the bell above there came no answering 

"That's queer; try it again. Now, then!" 
and the boys breathed deep and pulled hard ; the 
creaking rope slid stiffly back, grating mournfully 
in its wooden socket ; but still the bell was silent. 
The rope fell from their hands. They looked 
suspiciously at each other. 

" Anybody been cheating ? " 

Stories of witches and goblins floated into the 
memory of some of the smaller boys. 

" You don't suppose it 's ghosts, do you ? " tim- 
idly suggested one of the boys, who, with an eye 
to unearthly possibilities, had already considerably 
shortened the distance between himself and the 
open window. 

" Ho, ho, ho ! " laughed the Colonel. "Ghosts ? 
Come on and let 's find 'em ! Up to the belfry, 
boys ! " 

So up to the dark belfry they went. Once in 
the belfry, there was an eager search ; and a howl 
of dismay went up from the boys, as in breath- 
less tones the General announced, "The — bell- 
tongue 's — gone ! " 

They searched high, they searched low, under 
the rafters, back of the beams, but no bell-tongue 
could be found. 

They formed in line, and each, in turn, vowed 
that he knew nothing of the missing clapper. 

" Well ! " wailed the boys disconsolately, at last, 
"the fun's all over; we might as well go home 
and go to bed." 

Then, suddenly, the Colonel's cheerful voice 



rang out, "Say, fellows, got any wire? Well, 
then, 1 've got an idea. You just bless the shades 
of my ancestors, and I '11 be back in a jiffy," 
and the Colonel and his idea disappeared in the 

Down the ladder, over the fence he went, 
through the dewy fields he ran, until, panting but 
gleeful, he stood within the door-yard of the old, 
old house. A mosquito net guarded the kitchen's 
open window. He hesitated an instant, and then 
put his fist boldly through. " Fix it to-morrow," 
he muttered. A moment and he stood within. 
There, in the corner, he saw the object of his com- 
ing : — the old mortar and pestle. He lifted the 
pestle gently and laughed, softly to himself as he 
said, "Ha, ha, my beauty! You won't make a 
bad clapper for a centennial bell, will you ? " And 
then he was off again. 

A pair of dewy shoes stood by Dr. Chapin's bed ; 
a coat covered with webs and dust was flung over 
the back of a chair, while on the table glimmered 
a small iron object which had not been there two 
hours before. 

The doctor was dreaming, — dreaming of this 
same piece of iron. He thought that he held it 
firmly in his hand, when suddenly it wrenched 
itself from his grasp, rapped him sharply over the 
knuckles, perched itself familiarly on his shoulder, 
and shouted in his ear, " Clang, clang ! " 

The dream ended ; but still sounded the metallic 
voice, — " Clang, clang ! " There was no mis- 
taking it. He sprang from his bed ; a rapid search 
showed the innocent iron tongue lying untouched 
on the table. 

Steadily from the old belfry tower rang out the 
bell, peal after peal, as if the glad spirits of the 
boys were mocking the short-lived triumph of the 
astonished doctor. 

The old gentleman dropped into a chair and 
groaned. Seventy-six strokes they had pulled be- 
fore; probably they would now complete the other 
eighteen hundred ! 

" Why did n't 1 let those boys alone ? I might 
have known they would get the best of it ! But, 
where, in this glorious Republic, did they rake up 
another clapper ? " And then from groaning the 
doctor fell to laughing, — which proves, without 
doubt, that he was a philosopher. 

By and by the boys grew tired or took pity, and 
the clangor in the belfry died away. And then, 
from laughing, the doctor fell once more to sleep- 
ing, and the boys trooped home. 

The mortar and the pestle still stand in the 
pleasant kitchen ; and the iron tongue has found 
its way home to its belfry tower, where, perhaps, 
some day you may come upon them, guarding the 
old. old house and the little church in the quiet 
Connecticut valley. 


By Gertrude Van R. Wickham. 


John Burroughs is famous for his success in 
reading a wonderfully interesting book, which is 
written in a language few can translate for want of 
the proper eyesight ; for in order to read even the 
shortest chapter of it, observing eyes, studious 
eyes, and, above all, loving eyes are required. 

Other books may be read at one's ease. One 
can study them by the fireside in winter, under 
shelter when it storms, in cool shadows when the 
sun is fierce ; but he who turns the leaves of the 

Vol. XV.— 43. 

Book of Nature ofttimes must do so at much sacri- 
fice of physical comfort, regardless of cold or heat, 
unmindful of rain or snow, and forgetful even of 

And then, after each lesson is learned, to make 
the study of practical value the reader should be 
able to repeat the lesson in language which all 
may understand. 

This, John Burroughs docs most delightfully, 
and offers us dainty volumes concerning " Birds 
and Poets," " Fresh Fields," "Winter Sunshine," 
and the "Wake Robin." He is like a florist who 





takes a patch of uncultivated land for his garden, 
and, after a spring and summer of care and toil, 
invites into it all who love flowers, selecting and 
arranging the choicest for them to bear away. 

One can easily imagine Mr. Burroughs's boy- 
hood. Even then he must have been a rare com- 
panion for a walk, seeing with his young eyes what 
was invisible to others ; detecting the first breath 
of spring upon the imprisoned tree-buds ; hearing 
the faint, far-away notes of the coming birds ; 
knowing when and where to look for the rarest 
wild-flowers ; noticing every change of form and 
color in the passing clouds, and giving, in those 
early days, bright promise of the future which 
finds him to-day the famous American author and 

We shall not be surprised to learn that one who 
has discovered the family secrets of the birds, and 
is on intimate terms with that shy symphony in 
water-colors, the speckled brook trout, is also fond 
of all animals, and especially of dogs. 

They are the chosen companions of his daily 
rambles, and are otherwise taken into distinguished 

" In loving a dog," he says, " one is always 
sure of a full return." 

Within twelve years, or since living at West 
Park, New York, Mr. Burroughs has had three 
little black-and-tan friends, all of whom succes- 
sively came to grief, leaving behind them a sorrow- 
ing master. 

The first was "Rab," who lived only a year, 
and then fell a victim to distemper. He was loved 
in the family almost as though he were a child, 
and regretful tears were shed at his death. 

The next one was " Rove," a wonderfully spirited 
and intelligent dog. He was very fleet-footed, and 
always began to chase the sparrows in his glee, 
when he saw Mr. Burroughs making ready for a 
walk or a drive. 

He lived to be three years old, and in that time 
came almost to read his master's very thoughts. 
Rove was poisoned. 

His successor was " Lark," the dog of the gentle 
heart ; neither so active nor so intelligent as Rove, 
but very affectionate. A simple-minded dog was 
Lark. When seizing a squirrel he would take hold 
as far from the squirrel's little teeth as possible, — 
usually by the tail, — and consequently was always 

Lark became very dear to his master, and they 
had many walks and talks together. When he 
died, in 1881, Mr. Burroughs was so bereaved that 
he concluded to love no more dogs, and kept that 
resolution for four years. 

Here is a bit of doggerel that Mr. Burroughs 
used to repeat to his little boy about Lark, which 

* See " Letter-] 

will interest the Very Little Folks of St. Nich- 
olas : 

" My dog Lark, 
He can bark 
After dark. 
And hit the mark 
'Way over to Hyde Park." 

The present reigning favorite is "Laddie."* 

T wish that I were able to place him upon the 
same high plane of fidelity and affection as was 
occupied by his lamented predecessors, but, — 
alas ! — Laddie is unmindful of his rare privileges, 
and sometimes forsakes his master to run off to 
town with — the butcher ! 

It seems too bad thus to publish him to the 

"laddie," one of JOHN BUKROUGHS's DOGS. 

world; for, if he could realize how his shortcom- 
ings were being spread before so many critical 
young eyes, he doubtless would be much mortified, 
and at once mend his vagabond ways. 

Fortunately for Mr. Burroughs, Laddie is not 
his only dog. He has a fine black setter, by the 
waggish name of " I Know," who is all one could 
wish in a canine friend ; faithful, affectionate, and 
with no interests separate from those of his master. 

He seems not to have a single savage, or even 
unkind, drop of blood in his veins. Indeed, it must 
be an animal of unbounded good nature that would 
allow two cats and a smaller dog to use him as a 
rug; for in cold weather Laddie coolly settles 
himself for the night in the space between I 
Know's outstretched legs, curling up against his 

)0X," page 716. 



long silken hair to keep warm ; while the cats, for 
the same reason, nestle close to their big, gentle 
friend, and sometimes even sit upon him as he lies 
stretched out by the kitchen stove. 

Occasionally I Know acts as if he knew he 
was being put upon, for no dog of character would 

springs upon him, usually putting one paw on Mr. 
Burroughs's arm, and hopping along for the first 
few paces on his hind legs ! 

A sportsman would not value I Know highly, 
for, although a thoroughbred setter, he has never 
been trained to hunt ; but the instinct is strong in 


care to be found in such an undignified position. 
But he is too kind-hearted openly to resent their 
freedom, so his only recourse is to shed the cats, 
and deprive Laddie of his silken blanket by get- 
ting up and laying himself down in another place. 
We can imagine the dazed look of the cats as they 
feel their soft couch heaving, and find themselves 
pitched off upon the floor, and the disgust of that 
little rascal. Laddie, when his covering walks away. 
But we need not pity them, for we can imagine 
also just how long poor I Know is allowed to pos- 
sess his new camping-ground in peace. No longer 
than it takes those comfort-loving friends to stretch 
themselves, walk around to the other side of the 
stove, and establish themselves in their old posi- 

The great moment of the day with I Know, is 
when he sees his master getting ready for an after- 
dinner walk. Then how he leaps, and barks, and 

him, and he scours the fields and woods in a lively 
manner, especially when he strikes the trail of a 
partridge. Then he is in a quiver of excitement. 

We trust that faithful, obedient I Know will be 
long-lived, and for many years to come continue 
thus to be his master's companion and humble 
friend. As for the rebellious truant. Laddie, we are 
certain that when his wild youth is over he will 
pose as a reformed dog, and will offer good advice 
drawn from his own experience. 


Of course, an animal of such rare attainments 
lives in Boston, and furthermore, he assists in 
editing the Atlutitic Monthly .' 

Lest the latter statement lead to injustice, and 
Triplet be held responsible for all the dogmas 
expounded in that highly respectable magazine, 




let me hasten to explain that his connection with 
the Atlantic, though most honored and intimate, 
is somewhat limited. 

His duties, performed with great regularity and 
decorum, are self-appointed and self-taught. In- 
deed, regarded solely as a dog of letters, he would 
be considered truly a self-made dog. 

He watches for the postman, receives the mail, 
and carries it proudly and safely to the library of 
his master, who is Thomas Bailey Aldrich, poet 


and author, and editor of the Atlantic Monthly. 
In view of this fact there may be foundation for 
the rumor that Triplet is the medium between his 
master and the waste-paper basket ; that by a 
mutual understanding the dog singles out rejected 

manuscript at a glance, and gently drops it where 
it belongs. 

Triplet, as his name suggests, is one of a trio of 
playmates, his two companions being Mr. Aid- 
rich's twin sons ; and probably it is safe to say 
that one-third of all the fun and frolic, one-third 
of all the noise and mischief, sure to occur in a 
house sheltering two boys and a dog, is made by 
the beautiful, petted, Irish setter. 

So much of a child is he himself, that he requires 
a warm, comfortable bed every night; he brings 
it down from an upper room, and sleeps with his 
head high on a pillow. 

Although, I trust, a dog of strictest democratic 
principles in accord with his environment, Triplet 
perhaps would be justified in assuming aristocratic 
tastes and tendencies ; for he is of a rare breed, and 
his ancestors have won enviable distinction at dog 

Added to these natural advantages, is an aca- 
demical education acquired at Sumner's kennels, 
Dorchester, Mass., where he graduated well- 
trained to the gun. 


"Fax" was a melancholy proof of the saying, 
" Accidents will happen in the best-regulated 
families." Mr. Frank Stockton, 
though a brilliant novelist, is, 
or was, no judge of a dog. He 
fell into the grave error of pre- 
suming that the biggest is invari- 
ably the best. But we, who are 
wiser, know that the tiniest plant 
in a bed of seedlings, or the 
"weeniest" puppy in a litter of 
dogs, is often the choicest. 

So, when Fax rapidly outgrew 
his brothers and sister and be- 
came so large and clumsy as to 
interfere with their comfort, and 
even to endanger their safety, Mr. 
Stockton never should have ac- 
cepted him as a gift. But, if 
he had not, Fax would have lived 
and died in obscurity, so the 
world would not have known 
all the possibilities of canine 
character ; and, after all, in some 
~' respects he was such a dog 
as you naturally would expect 
Mr. Stockton to call his own. He was perfectly 
original, and entirely unconventional. Little cared 
he that his mother was a beautiful black setter, 
and that her other puppies usually favored the 
maternal side of the house. He preferred to be 




liver-colored and white, himself, and to look and 
act like a conglomerate of all kinds of dogs; to 
have the head of a hound, the ears of a spaniel, 
and the forelegs of a setter, while the rest of his 
body was that of a pointer. 

But it was not merely this physical patchwork 
that made Fax an object of interest. His mental 
incongruities were equally varied. Ignoring the 
traditional rules of interest or affection that are 
supposed to govern the canine mind, he succeeded 
in keeping himself continually conspicuous, and 
consequently never suffered the neglect which is 
too often the portion of modesty or diffidence. 
"Fax's latest" became an absorbing topic of 
family interest; and "What will he do next?" 
was a daily inquiry. 

One of his eccentricities was a too literal inter- 

tea ; we have a spare bed, if only you will stay.' 
Then, still wagging himself about the pleased 
visitor, he would drop a little behind, and have 
the guest by the leg before one could say Jack 

Fax had a scientific turn of mind. He early 
established a museum in the back yard, and was 
always collecting material for it. He never be- 
came discouraged at the frequent raids made upon 
it by various members of the family who objected 
to his methods of acquiring specimens. 

Bones, whether of beast, fish, or fowl, were care- 
fully covered up, together with his master's slippers, 
his mistress's purse, and the baby's stockings. 
Early morning, before the family were up, was his 
favorite time for work in this direction ; and then 
he would stand around, looking unconscious and 

pretation of the injunction, "Welcome the coming, 
speed the parting guest." He was in such a hurry 
to do the speeding that he frequently commenced 
it before the caller entered the house. Mr. Stock- 
ton says — "He would run to meet the person as 
though he had known the visitor intimately for 
years, — wagging his tail and his body too, as if 
simple tail-wagging were too slight a welcome for 
so distinguished a guest. As the dog went caper- 
ing and mincing down the path, his every gesture 
seemed to say, ' Why, how do you do ? How 
glad we shall all be to see you ! Everything is 
ready for you; there are chickens and hot rolls for 

* See " Letter-I 

innocent, while they, half dressed, were searching 
for missing articles, and exclaiming, "Who took 
my shoes ? " " Where is my other stocking ? " "I 
say, who 's dot my towsis ? " 

This tendency to appropriate and secrete things 
for which he could have no possible use did not 
cease with his puppy-days ; and with his maturer 
months was developed an utter disregard for the 
rights of property in general. He no longer felt 
limited in his choice of food, for instance ; both the 
butcher and the baker were close at hand, and it 
was easier to help himself abroad than to wait for 
his usual dinner at home ; and whenever he chose 

)0x," page 716, 



to change his diet, there were dehcious herring at 
the nearest grocer's, and he knew where they were 

He was generally on hand when his master or 
mistress started out for a walk, ready to go along 
and to bring distress and shame upon them. Mr. 
.Stockton relates a vexatious but amusing instance 
in which Fax made him feel conspicuous and 

"One Sunday, as with a well-dressed crowd I 
was going to church, I found Fax following me. 
Knowing that he never entered a church, I took no 
particular notice of him; but happening to lookback 
a second time, I saw him at my heels with a twist- 
loaf in his mouth ! He had been in the shop of an 
irreligious baker in those few minutes. This was 
too much for my sense of propriety, and as I failed 
utterly to drive him off, and began to attract con- 
siderable attention, I was obliged to go down a 
side-street and so home. That dog was never 
abashed. I have seen him chase chickens into 
the very houses of their owners, and, before their 
astonished eyes, pin the poor fowls to the floor. 
Of course, at such times, I did not wish any one to 
think that 1 was acquainted with the dog. But on 
being discovered in any disreputable intrusion into 
house, store, or garden, it was his habit to run to 
us, and jog along demurely behind us, as much as 
to say, ' These are the folks I belong to ; if you 
have anything to say, say it to them.' And very 
often people did say it to us." 

And yet, no one could help liking Fax, for in 
spite of his glaring faults, he was interesting. Such 
an utterly ridiculous dog could scarcely fail of being 
so. And then he was kind and affectionate with 
the children of the family. 

Also, Fax at times displayed great intelligence. 
A large dog, chained during the day, w-as let loose 
at night, well muzzled. Several mornings in suc- 
cession his muzzle was found hanging loose from 
his neck. How it became unfastened was a great 
mystery until a watch vv'as set upon him, when it 
was discovered that soon after being untied for the 
night he would lie down on the grass, and Fax 
would unbuckle the strap with his teeth, and pull 
the muzzle over the big dog's nose. 

At different times, after some aggravating offense 
against propriety or morals on the part of Fax, 
Mr. Stockton would endeavor to escape from fur- 
ther consequence of this canine mistake by giving 
him away. But the dog always came, or was 
brought, back. Then a relative, out of regard for 
the family honor and peace, tried to poison him. 
He ate the dose in safety, and licked his chops for 

Finally, one day, he poked his head through 
a pane of glass in a grocer's window, in order to 
reach a coveted bunch of herring, and was then 
and there handed over to justice, in the shape of a 
passing porter, with orders to take the dog away 
where none of the family would ever again set 
eyes on him. 



By John Preston True. 

Chapter XI. 

The General was right. The new drill was a 
complete success. For a time it beat even the 
novelty, skate-sailing, out of sight ; and putting 
the students through the manual (which, be it 
remarked, the General had devised without tak- 
ing a trip to Arizona, or holding an interview with 
the Apaches) kept the whole community in a 
state of subdued excitement. 

The two daily drill-hours were borne on the wings 
of the wind, and were past before tliey seemed to 
have more than come. There was so much to do in 
them, and progress was so slow ! In the first place, 
the boys found that Harry was a very martinet as 
a drill-master, " out-heroding Herod" in that 
respect. If a student failed in a maneuver, if he 
hurried or was too slow, or if the twang of the 
bow-string came two seconds too soon to be in 
accord with the rhythmic count by which the 
motions were measured, that student went back 
to the beginning and did it all over again until he 
was faultless. There was grumbling, of course ; a 
great deal of it, at one time or another. Perhaps 
the only one who did not find fault was the very 
one from whom trouble had been expected. 
Mitchell, when his turn came, went at the manual 
with a certain sullen determination to excel that 
carried him through in just half the time required 
for Lieutenant Rankin ; and Mitchell received his 
arrows first of all. 

But Harry was popular, and, moreover, was 
genuinely enthusiastic ; besides, the habit of drill 
had so wrought its work upon the students as to 
render them far more receptive of ideas than any 
raw recruits would be under similar circumstances. 
So, thanks to a time of mild weather which pre- 
cluded skating, he found it less of a task than he 
had anticipated, to teach these hundred boys to 
draw and to release their bow-strings together; 
and after arrows had been given, battalion-drill 
became a source of hearty enjoyment. 

Some few complained of weariness, and were at 
once supplied with lighter bows, after which no 
further objection was heard. There was much 
keen emulation among the different companies 
over the records of their respective marksmanship ; 
for records had been kept from the day when first 
they faced the targets with filled quivers and did 
their best to mar the perfection of the fair sur- 

faces. Company A led at the outset, of course ; 
but the others rapidly advanced in precision. 

Under such inducements a week of school life 
passes with astonishing swiftness, and when Satur- 
day of another week dawned and left the first in 
the past, hardly more than a day seemed to have 
flown by. One thing attested it, however ; the 
threatened thaw had dallied by the way, and after 
some slushy weather the ice was solid as a rock, 
although a low moaning came from the southward 
and a storm seemed brewing in that direction. 

There are fashions among boys as among men. 
Let a new game be launched upon the sea of life 
and become cauglit in the undercurrent of public 
approval and it soon leaves all others far behind, 
as did the famous "fifteen-puzzle" in the year 

Harry already had set a fashion. There was no 
doubt about that. For days at a time the boys had 
thought of nothing but his new method of flying, 
and it was not as yet grown commonplace by famil- 
iarity nor dulled in the least by the long interval. 
The General even combined the novelties, for an 
hour, by holding the Saturday quarter-staff drill 
on skates upon the ice. Doctor McCarty was 
inclined to joke about this experiment, and tried 
to quiz the veteran over his lapse from precedent. 

"Quite a mistake. Doctor ! If you will read Dutch 
and Swedish history you will find more than one 
occasion upon which a force of skaters wrought 
havoc in an enemy's ranks, hovering around them 
like hawks, as the soldiers were marching across 
some frozen lake. I believe that on at least one 
such occasion, skaters took part in a regular pitched 
battle ! " and the old soldier tugged at his mus- 
tache with a certain feeling of grim humor at thus 
having got the better of the little Doctor. 

It was a glorious day for sailing. The wind 
howled around the corners of the Institute build- 
ings, and swept shrieking across the lake from the 
southward until the boys had difficulty in standing 
against it, and those who had the means took a 
reef in their lateens. Old sailors looked knowingly 
at the signs in the sky, and predicted a snow-storm 
within twenty-four hours. This only made the 
boys more eager to make the most of the skating 
while it lasted ; and some twenty of them, having 
little storm-lanterns swingingfrom the yards, started 
immediately after supper, with the intention of 





beating down the lake a dozen miles or more, and 
then scudding back before the wind. Dane, Harry, 
Rankin, Mitchell, and Nat Young were among 
them, and all of them were skillful sailors on the 
water, which is almost the same thing as being a 
good ice-sailor. To know how to beat up against 
a smacking breeze, to keep right side up when the 
gusts came, — the same principles are to be fol- 
lowed on ice or water. It was a pity there was 
no moon until late that night; but the darkness 
made the lanterns gleam all the brighter, as they 
darted hither and thither like will-o'-the-wisps, 
and the boys at the Institute watched them for a 
long way, as they zigzagged to and fro in their 
seemingly erratic and butterfly-like courses. 

The sky was heavily overcast, and here and there 
flakes of snow fluttered lazily down at shortening 
intervals, — • forerunners of the storm which the 
weather prophets had predicted, — flakes at which 
the principal shook his head with some misgiving, 
and which led him to order the great lamp to be 
lighted in the tall clock-tower. The lamp soon 
sent a bright beam flashing through the darkness. 

There was a crowd of skaters all the evening on 
the ice near the Institute, in spite of the fact that 
many of the students had been upon runners 
nearly all day. Three or four kegs of tar were 
mounted upon barrels ballasted with stones, and 
with these for goals, blazing red in the night, many 
a game of "Prisoner's Base" was played, varied 
at intervals by its cousin among games, " Scout." 

The latter may not be known everywhere. 
Briefly, it is this: Two boys keep the goal, touch- 
ing every skater they can catch ; while any player 
who, untouched himself, can touch the goal, is safe 
for that game ; the first boy caught has to be goal- 
keeper next time, while the last caught becomes 
the second goal-keeper and chaser of the rest. It 
was very exciting, and kept them warm with exer- 
cise. They lacked the presence of the best play- 
ers, however, all of whom were away with Harry 
Wylie ; and some began to wonder why the party 
had not returned. 

" There they are ! " shouted one at last, and all 
within hearing turned and looked with straining 
eyes. Far away, seeming almost on the horizon, 
a score of twinkling lights — mere pin-points — 
glittered in a wavering fashion against the black 
curtain of the sky, vanishing and reappearing 
without growing perceptibly larger; while a strange 
rumbling, grinding sound came echoing down the 
wind, so faintly that for a time no one noticed it. 

When gusts came, the low rumble grew louder, 
but it died away to a mere murmur during the 

Suddenly the distant lights grew dim for a 
moment, and then vanished altogether. Five, ten 

minutes passed, and still they did not reappear. 
A gray mist was rapidly advancing toward the 
skaters, spreading entirely across the lake. Then 
came a hiss and a rush, and they found themselves 
wrapped in a blinding snow-squall, the particles of 
snow as fine as dust. Meanwhile the low rumbling 
increased in volume as they struggled toward the 
shore, guided by the reflector in the tower. At 
the same moment a telegraph messenger rushed 
up in great excitement with a dispatch, addressed 
to the principal, from an agent down the lake : 

" Call in all skaters ; ice is breaking up. 


Scarcely a minute elapsed before, loud and clear, 
the notes of the bugle rang out the "Retreat," 
and in scurried the last of the skaters, with flying 
feet, to join the crowd on shore. But the yachts- 
men, — the swift-sailed Corinthians who shot away 
southward in the early evening, — they had not 
come back. And the ice was breaking up ! 

It was about half-past nine in the evening when, 
some ten miles away from the Institute, the boys 
had come about and on the starboard tack, hug- 
ging the wind as closely as was possible, had 
glided into a cove for a moment's rest. It was 
hard work, — this standing up against the wind for 
so long a time. 

Nat Young's lantern had blown out, and he had 
some difficulty in relighting it. 

" Strikes me that we have come far enough," 
he observed, when the flame was again burning 

" It is about time to go back, that 's a fact," 
Dane assented, consulting his watch. " How the 
wind does blow ! — What 's that, I wonder ? " 

" That," was a heavy crash reverberating along 
the ice, which seemed to tremble under them, 
startling every boy to his feet. They had noticed 
this tremulous wave-motion before. A mile away 
to windward a black line stretched across the lake. 
Within the last few minutes it had approached 
pcrceptil^ly nearer, and the crashing sounds had 
increased alarmingly in volume. Harry Wylie 
started out to investigate, and Mitchell, after a 
moment's hesitation, followed him. A few minutes 
later Mitchell with frightened eyes came flying 
back a-slant the wind like a sea-gull. 

"Travel, fellows! the ice is breaking." With- 
out stopping he threw his weight back against the 
wind and, in a twinkling, shot away homeward on 
the other tack, with the wind on the quarter which 
he had found to be his swiftest. He was followed 
by all the rest at their utmost speed. Dane, who 
carried a tremendous spread of sail, shook out his 
reef and shot after Mitchell like an Arctic owl in 
pursuit of a flying hare. 


"Where 's Wylie ? " he shouted, as his sail for 
an instant blanketed Mitchell's. 

"Coming! He told me to give the alarm," roared 
Mitchell over his shoulder ; " there 's his light ! " 

It was not his light, it was Rankin's ; but they 
had gone several miles 
before it was discovered 
that Harry Wylie was 

" Where did you see 
him last ? " Dane asked 
sharply, when Mitchell 
rounded to with the rest, 
and stood with his sail 
pointed to the wind. 

" Just beyond the 
point. He was forty rods 
away, and shouted down 
the wind, to start you — 
that the ice was going. I 
was scared," he added, 
honestly, " and lit out 
after you without delay." 

" Perhaps he went 
ashore," suggested Nat 
Young, doubtfully. 

" He would n't have 
done that, I know ! It 's 
miles away from house 
or road ! Something has 
happened to him," said 
Rankin, with decision. 

The wind, whistling 
across the bleak and 
desolate expanse, sang 
shrilly a bitter song, 
and white flakes shot 
hissing past a group of 
faces ashy pale. For 
several moments no one 
spoke. The dull thump- 
ing, grinding, crashing, 
as sullen waves gnawed 
at the edges of the ice 
and crushed it up by 
acres, — using its frag- 
ments as sledges with 
which to beat down upon 
the rest, — echoed from 
the shores, making the black plain beneath tremble. 

" We must n't stand here, or we shall be caught 
by the water before we know it," said Lieutenant 
Rankin finally, with a shudder at the thought. 
" Start for home, boys ; it 's the best we can do." 

With heavy hearts the boys started, swung 
around, and began to gather headway. 

For a few rods they kept together. What each 

one thought it is difficult to tell. What Edward 
Dane thought was that Mitchell knew more than he 
chose to tell; and his heart throbbed with wrathful 
sorrow for his lost friend. If it was so — if Mitchell 
was the cause . He did not finish even to him- 


self, but his teeth set sternly, and a savage flash 
came into his eye. There was reason. He remem- 
bered the drill, the fire, and other less notable oc- 
casions when the mill-owner's son had shown 
enmity against Wylie. 

Whatever he had determined to do, he was not 
allowed time to carry out his plan, for before they 
had gone a dozen rods Mitchell gave a great sweep 




around, and shooting back toward the others, who 
were somewhat to the rear, shouted as he passed : 

"Good-bye, fellows ! I 'm going after Wylie." 

The next instant they saw him darting away to 
windward, the white flakes flashing from beneath 
the steel as his skates ground into the ice, his lan- 
tern streaming out horizontally from the yard ; 
and before the others had fairly comprehended 
his intention, he was half a mile away. 

" Well, I 'm beat ! " 

And the rest agreed with Lieutenant Rankin. 

" 1 'm going with him ! " Dane cried, but Ran- 
kin caught the end of the sail and held him. 

" Don't be a fool, Dane. You can't do any 
good ; two are enough to lose. See, there ! " 

The snow had come ; a dense, whirling cloud 
that sifted into every unguarded seam and cranny, 
and for very breath forced them to turn their 
backs. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed as they 
drove northward on the wings of the rushing 
storm ; no sound but the hissing of the sleet rat- 
tling against the sails, the howling of the gale, the 
gride of the irons on the ice. 

Suddenly Nat Young, who was on the extreme 
right, gave a great shout ; he had caught sight of a 
beam of light struggling through the snow. At the 
instant, from somewhere in his direction, out leaped 
the ringing notes of the bugle ; they had nearly 
passed the landing unawares, and as they turned 
and learned their direction, leaning hard against 
the wind, they gave long sighs of relief, and bore 
up again for the welcome wharf. 

" Thank God ! " It was the principal himself, 
shaking their hands heartily, helping them up the 
ladder, calling each by name. 

"Are you all here?" A sad silence answered 
him. It was so hard to say it ! For a minute no 
one spoke. Then the principal asked again, in a 
quick, suppressed voice : 

" Rankin ! who is it ? " 

And the answer came so reluctantly : 

" Mitchell, and— Wyhe ! " 

There was something ominous in the joining of 
those names ; something ominous of treachery ; 
and through the crowd of students upon the wharf 
swept a murmuring, which betrayed to the princi- 
pal the fact that there had been trouble before 
between the two. He drew Rankin aside and ques- 
tioned him sharply until he had learned all that the 
latter had to tell, both about the past troubles be- 
tween the two students and the particulars of their 
present disappearance. That Mitchell should go 
back after Wylie seemed inexplicable, unless — 
and it was a startling thought — he was in some 
way responsible for Wylie's lingering, and had 
repented when it was too late. Yet there was still 

time for Mitchell to return, and when he came 
there should be a clearing up of all this mystery. 
" Blunt ! " 

" Here, sir ! " and the student sprang up from 
a sheltered corner, where he had taken refuge 
from the driving snow, and saluted. 

" Go out to the end of the wharf and wind a call 
upon your bugle once a minute until further orders. 
Use the higher notes, and take advantage of the 

Chapter XII. 

HE end of the wharf was a 
particularly exposed place, 
and the sleet was hissing 
across it in horizontal lines, 
swept by the full force of the 
blasts that came in quick 
succession. There, if any- 
where, could be felt the 
throbbing pulse of the storm ; but Blunt took 
his bugle unquestioningly and departed without 

The principal looked about him and selected 
an athletic youth who stood near. 

" Lawton, run up to my library and get the 
heaviest umbrella in the rack. Return as soon as 
possible, and go down and shelter Blunt." 

Lawton vanished, but reappeared, puffing, and 
hurried on to join Blunt. Soon the long notes of 
the bugle rang out wild and shrill upon the night; 
an unearthly wail, piercingly keen, that cut across 
the wind far out into the lake. 

And that saving blast reached the ears of a 
skater bewildered in the driving snow ! 

Again the bugle shrilled across the lake, seem- 
ingly much louder than before. Lawton was now 
beside Blunt, and the hollow umbrella threw out- 
ward some of the sound, while shielding the bugler 
and enabling him to blow the harder. 

Down the wind, also, came the crashing of the 
breaking ice ; cake was grinding upon cake, tossing 
in the heaving water, bursting apart as the heavy 
swell rose and fell beneath the brittle plain. If the 
skater was to reach the shore it must be soon ! 

And one of his skates was broken ! 

He was in great peril. The snow was an inch in 
depth, a moving, clogging blanket on the ice. To 
beat against the wind upon one foot was a very se- 
vere test of skill. Still he did it, though but slowly. 
Again and again he was for an instant overbal- 
anced, and as often did he resume his battle with 
the elements. The snow flew from before his feet, 
and the sail, stiff with sleet, crackled at every mo- 
tion. At last, raising his bowed head, he saw the 
light from the great clock-tower shining mistily 
above him. The same instant, the ice beneath 




him trembled suddenly, and a loud crash came 
with the wind. There was open water within a 
furlong's distance ! 

On shore, under the lee of one of the buildings 
near the wharf, a knot of boys were congregated : 
with coat-collars turned up around their ears, and 
hands in their pockets, they gazed outward. Edward 
Dane was one of them. He felt bitter against Ran- 
kin for preventing his return to search for Wylie. 

" I ought to have gone ! " he kept repeating, 
" I ought to have gone in spite of you ! What 
good would Mitchell do, if he found him ? What 
did he go back for, anyway ? What was it to him 
whether Harry came back or not ? I believe that he 
was at the bottom of it all, and played Wylie some 
scurvy trick that hindered him from following us, 
and then was frightened at the result ! " 

" I acted for the best, Dane," said the lieuten- 
ant, gloomily. " I could see no advantage in your 
going after him, and I see none now. You could do 
no good, and as the ranking officer present I was 
responsible for your safety. I could n't do other- 
wise, under the circumstances." 

" Hang safety ! " said Dane, hotly. "What good 
is life to me, if I must know myself a coward to 
the end of time, to pay for it ? I 'd rather be under 
the ice once for all, and done with it ! " 

The bugle sounded shrilly as he spoke, the weird 
notes sending a shiver through them ! Then a 
heavy gust followed the lull, as though it were 
some spirit of the storm summoned by the bugle- 
blast, and they could feel the building rock before 
it, snapping and cracking; and louder than all 
came the crash of breaking ice, now startlingly 

There was silence among the boys. The crowd 
had melted away, for most of the students had 
gone to their rooms, not caring to face the storm 
longer, as they could not be of any use. At length 
none remained save the skaters who had themselves 
been in danger, the principal, who was walking up 
and down in the lee of the building. Dr. McCarty, 
who accompanied him, and the bugler with his 
" shield-bearer," who, steadfast at their posts, sent 
out ringing notes at regular intervals. 

Suddenly Dane sprang outward from the wall 
and stood listening, with his hand to his ear. 


For a moment there was perfect silence. 

" What is it? " Nat Young ventured to remark. 

" I 'm certain that I heard a shout, — there ! Did 
you hear it ? " 

They did, most distinctly, a cheery, boyish cry, 
faintly pealing through the blinding snow. 

With a common impulse the boys gave a hearty 
cheer and rushed down the wharf to where the 

bugler stood ; Dane foremost, and half wild with 

"1 see him; it's Mitchell !" shouted Lawson, 
thinking he recognized the form of the skater who 
was leaning hard against the wind and rapidly 
gliding shoreward, coated with a mail of sleet from 
head to feet. 

Dane gave a low cry expressive of both grief 
and rage. 

"Just let me get hold of him ! " he said, as though 
to himself ; and the lieutenant, suddenly looking at 
him, saw his hands nervously opening and closing 
in a very suggestive manner. Stepping to his 
side, the lieutenant gently passed an arm through 
Dane's. It might not be safe for him to be left 
to his own guidance for a few minutes. 

The sail, meanwhile, kept steadily on, and in a 
very few seconds its wearer glided in beside the 
wharf. A dozen hands reached down to assist the 
skater, and lifted him, sail and all, upon the solid 
planks. But no one congratulated him, no one 
shook his hand until the principal and Dr. McCarty, 
hurrying as fast as possible, had nearly reached 
the group, when Dane gave a loud cry, flung 
Rankin backward as though he were but a child, 
and, rushing forward, threw his arms around the 
snow-encrusted neck. " It 's Wylie ! " 

" Of course ! " said that individual, wonderingly ; 
" who did you think 1 was? " 

" My dear boy ! " and the principal grasped him 
warmly by the hand, while a rousing cheer went 
up from the rest. 

" We had given you up for lost." 

" I was n't far from it, sir," Harry answered 
with a laugh and a shiver, as the boys crowded 
around him with hearty words of welcome. And 
as though to confirm his words, even as he spoke 
the ice close to the wharf broke asunder with a 
loud explosion that went crashing and echoing 
along the shores from point to point ; and the rush 
and splash of rolling waves followed, mingled with 
the grinding of the ice-floes one against another. 

" That will do. Blunt," said the principal to the 
bugler, who, still obeying orders, was preparing to 
give another blast. 

" Wylie, where did you last see Mitchell ? " 

" Down below Echo Point, sir ! " said Wylie, 
instantly comprehending that there was another 
missing boy. " I saw the ice was breaking up and 
shouted to him to give the alarm and saw him do 
so. Then I started toward home, and was making 
a long reach toward the other side of the lake, 
when the squall came and I broke my skate. I 
did not see him after we started homeward." 

" He went back after you, they tell me," said 
the principal in a low tone. 

"After me ? " and there was a break in his voice 




as he thought of what, he knew too well, had 
befallen the missing one. "I did not see him, 
sir," he said again ; and without another word the 
principal turned away and silently departed toward 
the Institute, sheltered from the driving snow by 
the umbrella which Lawton thoughtfully held 
against the storm, although the preceptor seemed 
utterly unconscious of it. The students followed 
him, depressed and sad. Mitchell had not been 
intimate with any of them. Many would have 

been glad to hear of his dismissal. But now 

As the students gained the summit of the bluff 
and turned for a last glimpse at the lake, now 
visible in white flashes, Rankin laid his hand on 
Dane's shoulder, while he stood clinging to Harry's 

"We were mistaken, Sergeant; we owe that 
much to his memory " ; and Dane understood. 

" I admit it. Lieutenant, and I am sorry I mis- 
judged him," he said, clearly, that the others 
might hear. " He was the one hero among us. 
If ever he comes back I shall tell him so ! " 

And that was Mitchell's requiem. When, a 
week later, the storm was over, and the sun shone 
brightly again upon a glassy plain ; when again 
the glittering steel carved magic runes upon the 
surface, and white sails darted swiftly here and 
there, some skaters found, miles away from shore, 
a bamboo mast and yard frozen in the ice, with the 
tattered sail still attached to it. They also found a 
glove, trimmed with dainty fur. But the owner 
had gone where there was neither malice, nor hate, 
nor envy, nor misrepresentation. 

The boys carefully cut out the wreck from the 
brittle ice, and bore it homeward — reverently, as 
they would have borne the arms of some dead sol- 
dier, — and placed it. dripping, on the vacant desk 
within the chapel. And there were tears in the 
eyes of boys, to whom tears had been for years 
unknown, when the first-sergeant, in calling the 
roll before prayers, inadvertently called the name 
of Mitchell, and the boy nearest to the desk an- 

" Not here !" 


Tramp! tramp! tramp! tramp! tramp! tramp! 
tramp ! tramp ! came the rhythmic beat of feet 
along the drill-hall floor. A hundred boys in dark 
blue uniforms and round caps without visors, were 
marching with steady step toward the lower end 
of the hall ; they were broad-shouldered and ath- 
letic, red-cheeked and bright-eyed, and straight 
as lances. 

Around their waists were belts from which hung 
quivers. From the round-mouthed quivers peeped 

the many-colored feathers of the arrows. The 
light from the windows fell upon long lines of 
richly polished bows at shoulder- shift, that rose 
and fell, rose and fell, in steady unison with the 
tramping feet below. 

Far down at the distant end of the hall a row of 
gayly painted targets reached across the building 
from side to side, each a foot in width, and with a 
number painted on a square above it. The light 
from a window fell across the row, making the 
targets show distinctly. 

"To the rear" — and still the boys swept on- 
ward, as though unheeding. 

" March !" At the word, each form wheeled as 
though upon a pivot, and the ranks were marching 
back whence they came. 

" Halt ! " 

Down came the upraised feet with a single beat, 
and the ranks were motionless. 

' ' Brace " — out went each right foot, twenty-eight 
inches forward — " bows ! " 

Each bow was placed with the tip against the 
instep of the advanced foot, held with the right 
hand by the middle, with the arc convex toward 
the owner, while the fingers of the left hand pushed 
the loop of the cord, at the upper end, upwa(rd and 
away. With a single movement, pulling wi'th one 
hand and pushing with the other, the bow was 
strung. Back sprang the feet to line. 

"Draw" — each hand in the front rank flew to 
a quiver, — " shafts ! " The flashing shafts were 
placed upon the strings, held by the fingers of the 
right hand, the tips of the first and second fingers 
being hooked beneath the cord with the arrow 
nock between them. 

" Square — away ! " 

The front rank came to right-face, except their 
heads, which still remained with faces toward the 
distant targets. Wylie, who had been giving the 
orders ( Captain Wylie now), stepped swiftly to one 
end of the line. 

"Raise — bows!" Up went the bow-arms of 
the front rank, the eyes of each fixed upon his own 
particular target, which seemed so small and round, 
and so very far away. And as the bows rose, the 
right hands drew the cords backward, slowly, 
steadily, until the feathers of the arrows touched 
the chins, and the arrow-heads touched the knuck- 
les of the left hands. Watchfully the captain 
glanced along the line, and when the rising arms 
ceased their movement and were motionless, at the 
instant sharply came the order : 

" Loose ! " 

Tsang-g-g-g ! With sudden melody of twang- 
ing cords, the winged arrows flew down the hall 
like glancing rays of light. Back to the listening 
ears came a pattering sound like the distant rattle 




of hailstones on the roof, and the canvas curtain 
behind the targets swayed and shook beneath the 
blows of arrows which had missed. 
" Draw — shafts ! " 

And the practice went on until ten flights of 
arrows had been sent hissing on their way. 

"Front — face! " At the command the front 
rank wheeled themselves around until they stood 
once more facing the targets. 

"Unbrace" — out went the right feet again — 
" bows ! " and m the same manner as they had 
been braced, the loops of the cords were slipped 
from the nocks and the bows sprang back, scarcely 
bent from their former straightness. 

" Shoulder — arms ! Forward — march ! " 

The ranks moved onward to the other end of the 
hall. The second rank halted, wheeled about, and 
in their turn took up the practice at the targets 
near the end of the hall whence they had just 
come, while the first rank gathered their arrows 
from curtain and cushions on the padded floor, 
and the sergeants and corporals recorded the values 
of the hits which had been made upon each target, 
crediting the total to the archer who had that disc 
assigned to him. 

" How are you nowadays, Dane? " asked Harry 
Wylie, struck by the alert and animated air of his 
fellow-officer, as his friend came toward him grasp- 
ing a handful of arrows. Dane was a lieutenant 
now, but all the officers practiced except the officer 
of the day. 

" 'Excellent well,' my lord!" and Dane laughed 
with satisfaction. "The Doctor examined me to- 
day, and I 'm three inches larger around the chest 
than I was three months ago, and my biceps looks 
like a blacksmith's. I 'm up among the nineties 
in the class-rank, too ! — we '11 make things howl 
when we ge^ to college ! " 

"Corporal of the guard, number five!" sud- 
denly rang loud and clear above the noise and 
hum of voices, and the individual thus summoned 
caught up his quarter-staff impatiently and went 
out, wondering who was the intruder this time. 
The village rowdies sometimes made trouble. 

Dane, Wylie, Rankin, and Nat Young were dis- 
cussing some item of importance in a corner, when 
they were made aware of something unusual taking 
place about the door. The boys were crowding like 
swarming bees about the entrance, and eager voices 
were shouting lustily. The excitement culminated 
in one prolonged, hearty cheer. The officers strolled 
toward the door, inspired by a mild curiosity, 
when Dane, who was taller than the average, gave 
a violent start, rubbed his eyes, looked again, then 

with an excited shout darted forward into the crowd, 
which he unceremoniously elbowed right and left. 
But quick as he was, Harry Wylie was before him. 
The crowd gave way, as by magic, before the epau- 
lets. In the center of the ring stood a boy, pale 
as from a long illness, thin to emaciation, his hands 
almost transparent, and on one cheek a great scar, 
running up across the temple and ending in the 
closely cropped hair. As he saw Wylie bursting 
through the ring, he raised one hand with a half 
timid, deprecatory gesture, and it trembled visibly. 

For an instant Harry stopped and looked at 
the new-comer with the look that one would have 
when meeting some great mystery — some presence 
from another world than ours. Then with a spring 
he threw his arms around the other's neck, and 
again a mighty cheer burst from the crowd of 
excited boys- a cheer that this time found voice 
and name together: 

" Mitchell ! ! " 

" Mitchell,— and all 's well ! " 

And Wylie and Mitchell stood there, looking into 
each other's eyes ; the one mutely asking forgive- 
ness, the other filled with gratitude toward the one 
who had gone back into the face of death for his 
sake and had thus made amends for the past ; stood 
there until the excitable Dane threw his long arms 
around them both and sealed a friendship that the 
three have never broken. 

How Mitchell escaped, he could not tell. A 
hunter had found him wandering in the storm 
more than twenty miles from the lake, and in a 
forest. There was nothing about him to disclose 
his identity, and a terrible wound had for a space 
set his reason astray. The deep snows had shut out 
all access to the busy world, before he rose from his 
bed again. It did not matter. He did not care to 
know all that had happened. It was enough that 
he had left his old self behind him, and that his 
better nature had at last gained the mastery in 
spite of years of injudicious training. 

Here we will leave them. The new drill v/as a per- 
manent success. The boys who went out from Wild 
Lake Institute, in after days, in college and in life 
took even higher rank than their predecessors, and 
they carried with them no bowed forms, pale 
cheeks, or hollow chests. Each day was to them a 
luxury, and life was to them no less a pleasure than 
a duty; while, as Dane once remarked, in a mo- 
ment of confidence, Christianity seemed to come 
more easily to them. A perfectly sound man is not 
a good subject for temptation. 



By Isaac Herr. 

■ Red and purple Morning-glories, " Little maid, we have no stories, 

Lightl)' swaying in the breeze. True or fairy, new or old. 

You seem filled with fairy stories ; We 're but laughing morning-glories 

Won't you tell them to me, please? " For your pretty hands to hold ! " 

By Willis J. Abbot. 

That a pig " nearly 
caused a war," as 
Julian Ralph told us 
in the March number 
of St. Nicholas, is 
doubtless astonishing 
enough, but people 
well versed in the his- 
tory of the United States 
can go even one step far- 
ther and declare that once a 
pig really caused a war. And 
the war brought on by the in- 
defensible proceedings of the pig 
that great conflict in 1812 which 
assured to the United States the inde- 
^ pendence which had been won in the war 
of the Revolution. 

It all happened in this wise: Two citizens 
of Providence, R. I., fell into a most un- 
seemly discussion on account of the lawless 
^ trespassings of a pig owned by one of them. 

' The aggrieved party possessed a very fine 
garden, in which it was his custom to spend his 
hours of leisure, weeding, grafting, and transplant- 
ing the flowers and vegetables in which he de- 
lighted. But often, as he entered his garden in 
the evening, his ears would be saluted with a grunt 
and a rustle, and the fat form of his neighbor's 
pig might be seen making a hasty flight from the 
garden in which it had been placidly rooting all day. 

In high dudgeon the gardener sought his neigh- 
bor and complained of the pig's frequent visits, 
declaring that a little time spent in repairing the 
pig-sty would restrain the animal's roving propen- 
sities. But to this the owner of the pig responded 

that if his neighbor would keep his rickety fences 
in proper repair, the pig might take its daily air- 
ing without temptation, and the garden would not 
be endangered. 

Repeated misdeeds on the part of the pig fanned 
the smoldering fires of dissension into the flames 
of open hostility. At last the crisis came. The 
owner of the garden, rising unusually early one 
morning, discovered the pig contentedly munching 
the last of a fine bed of tulip-bulbs. Flesh and 
blood could stand it no longer. Seizing a pitch- 
fork which lay near at hand, the outraged gar- 
dener plunged its sharp tines into the hapless pig, 
and bore the body, thus fatally impaled, to the sty, 
where it met the gaze of its owner an hour or two 
later. Thereafter it was war to the knife between 
the two neighbors. 

Now, what had all this to do with the war of 
1812? The answer is simple. The two neighbors 
belonged to the political party known as the 

Through all the outrages that Great Britain 
inflicted upon the United States : while seamen 
were being impressed, American vessels stopped 
on the high seas, and while every possible indig- 
nity was being committed against the flag of the 
United States, the Federalists remained friendly 
to Great Britain, and contested every proposition 
for the declaration of war. 

But the Democratic party was eager for war, 
and as British oppression became more unbearable 
the strength of the Democrats increased. It so 
happened that the election district in which the 
two neighbors lived had been about equally divided 
between Democrats and Federalists, but the latter 



party had always succeeded in carrying the election. 
But in 1811 the owner of the garden was a can- 
didate for the legislature on the Federalist ticket. 
His neighbor had always voted that ticket; but 
now, with his mind filled with the bitter recollection 
of the death of his pig, he cast his ballot for the 
Democrat. When the ballots were counted the 
Democrat was found to be elected by a majority 
of one. 

When the newly elected legislator took his seat, 
his first duty was to vote for a United States Sena- 
tor. He cast his vote for the candidate of the 
Democrats, who was also elected by a majority of 
one. When this senator took his place in the 

United States Senate he found the question of war 
with Great Britain pending, and after a long and 
bitter discussion it came to a vote. The Democrats 
voted for war, and the Federalists against it. As 
a result of the voting, war was declared — again 
by a majority of one vote. 

The war that followed gave to American naval 
history the names of Lawrence, Perry, Porter, Hull, 
and Bainbridge. It is one of the most glorious 
chapters in our national annals. And in view 
of the facts thus briefly recounted, it does not 
seem to be wholly whimsical to trace ils origin to 
the quarrel between the two citizens of Providence 
over the wandering pig. 

By Elbridge S. Brooks. 

[C/ESAR Rodney, of Dover, served in the Continental Congress as delegate from the three " Counties upon Delaware," as they were 
then termed. After the Declaration of Independence these counties received the name of "the Delaware State," and, in 1792, their 
present official title of the " State of Delaware."] 

In that soft mid-land where the breezes bear 
The north and the south on the genial air, 
Through the county of Kent, on affairs 

Rode Ccesar Rodnev, the delegate. 

'■ Money and men we must have," he said, 
" Or the Congress fails and our cause is dead, 
of Give us both and the king shall not work his 
will — 

We are MEN, since the blood of Bunker Hill ! " 

Burly and big, and bold and iDluff, 
In his three-cornered hat and his suit of snuff, 
A foe to King George and the English state 
Was Caesar Rodney, the delegate. 

Comes a rider swift on a panting bay : 
" Holo Rodney, ho ! you must save the day. 
For the Congress halts at a deed so great, 
And your vote alone may decide its fate ! " 

Into Dover village he rode apace. 
And his kinsfolk knew, from his anxious face. 
It was matter grave that had brought him 

To the counties three upon Delaware. 

Answered Rodney then : "I will ride with speed; 
It is Liberty's stress ; it is Freedom's need. 
When stands it ? " " To-night. Not a moment 

But ride like the wind, from the Delaware." 

Rodney's ride. 


" Ho, saddle the black ! I 've but half a day, 
And the Congress sits eighty miles away, — 
But I 'II be in time, if God grants me grace. 
To shake my fist in King George's face." 

He is up ; he is off! and the black horse flies 
On the northward road ere the " God-speed ! " 

It is gallop and spur, as the leagues they clear, 
And the clustering mile-stones move a-rear. 

It is two of the clock ; and the fleet hoofs fling 
The Fieldsboro' dust with a clang and cling. 
It is three ; and he gallops with slack rein where 
The road winds down to the Delaware. 

Four; and he spurs into Newcastle town. 
From his panting steed he gets him down — 
" A fresh one, quick ; not a moment's wait ! " 
And off speeds Rodney the delegate. 

It is five ; and the beams of the western sun 
Tinge the spires of Wilmington, gold and dun ; 
Six ; and the dust of the Chester street 
Flies back in a cloud from his courser's feet. 

It is seven ; the horse-boat, broad of beam, 
At the Schuylkill ferry crawls over the stream — 
And at seven-fifteen by the Rittenhouse clock 
He flings his rein to the tavern Jock. 

The Congress is met ; the debate 's begun. 
And Liberty lags for the vote of one — 
When into the Hall, not a moment late, 
Walks Caesar Rodney, the delegate. 

Not a moment late I and that half-day's ride 
Forwards the world with a mighty stride : — 
For the Act was passed, ere the midnight 

O'er the Quaker City its echoes woke. 

At Tyranny's feet was the gauntlet flung ; 
" We are free ! " all the bells through the colonies rung. 
And the sons of the free may recall with pride 
The day of delegate Rodney's ride. 

Vol. XV.— 44. 

'NSIDE the 
limits of 
the quaint 
old city, 
lis, the 
capital of 
the State 
of Mary- 
land, is 
a large 
scliool sit- 
uated in 

extensive grounds and surrounded by a high brick 
wall. This is the United States Naval Academy. 
As most schoolboys know, the city of Annapolis 
lies upon the banks of that beautiful river, the Sev- 
ern, two miles from its junction with the waters of 
Chesapeake Bay. 

It is at the Naval Academy that boys w-ho are 
over the age of fifteen, and who have successfully 
passed the necessary mental and physical exam- 
inations, learn to become midshipmen. 

Strictly speaking, there is no such person as a 
midshipman in the service of the United States. 
Possibly the boy readers of Marryat and Cooper 
can scarcely credit the existence of a navy without 
"middies"; but still it is a fact that for the past 
ten years the rank of midshipman has given place 
to that of naval cadet. 

The United States Naval Academy was estab- 
lished in 1845, during the administration of Presi- 
dent Polk, for the education of what are termed 
"line" officers of the navy. 

The line-officers of the navy are those who per- 
form the legitimate military duties of the navy as 
opposed to those who perform the non-combatant 
but equally necessary duties, such as doctors, pay- 
masters, engineers, and chaplains. These latter 
are known as " staff" officers, and are not edu- 
cated at the Naval Academy, but are appointed 
from civil life. 

When, some years ago, steam-vessels came into 
use as ships of war, it became necessary that the 
naval engineer should be something more than a 
mere engine-driver. The conditions of the service 
made it imperative for him to be an able, scientific, 
and practical engineer. For this purpose a thor- 
ough education in his special line was necessary ; 
and those intending to be engineers were admitted 
as students for a two-years' course in the Naval 
Academy. Their training was, of course, alto- 
gether different from that of the midshipmen, and 
so the students were divided into cadet-engineers 
and cadet-midshipmen. 

After a few years it was decided to make the 
courses of study the same length for both engi- 
neers and midshipmen, and all the students were 
designated by the same general title, being called 
" naval cadets." 

The length of the course at the Naval Academy 
is four years. A candidate for admission must 
first obtain permission from home to enter the lists 
in a competitive examination for an appointment 
to be given by the Congressman from his district. 
If successful in this examination, he receives a 
permit to appear before the examining board at 
Annapolis, and this board determines upon his 


qualifications for an appointment as naval cadet. 
If the board pronounces him physically sound, 
and if he is able to pass a satisfactory examination 
as to mental attainments, he receives his appoint- 
ment and becomes a naval cadet. 

This examination takes place in June, and as 
the older cadets are all absent from the academy 

on " leave," the successful candidates, or " plebes," 
as they are termed, feel their self-importance more 
strongly than they ever can again. 

In fact, however, their appearance is anything 
but imposing. They strut about in a consequential 
but evidently uneasy manner, struggling to appear 
at ease, and certainly not succeeding. 





The plebes, or "youngsters" (as they are also 
called), are at once quartered on board a large, 
old-fashioned wooden frigate, which always lies 
alongside the dock, and does duty during the 
school-sessions as a gunnery ship. 

This vessel becomes the residence of the plebes 
during the summer months ; here they have their 

first experience of sailor life ; and here, among 
other things, they first acquire the art of sleep- 
ing in a hammock. It is truly an edifying sight 
to see these lads, on their first night, struggling 
with their hammocks. The hammocks used in 
the navy, you must bear in mind, are very un- 
like those in which people swing under the trees 




in the country. The navy hammocks are made 
of heavy canvas, and are slung from the beams of 
the ship. They are usually hung quite high from 
the deck, so that it is not easy for a beginner to 
climb into one with any degree of grace, — • even if 
he manages to get in at all. Usually the novice 
struggles in from one side, and goes head over 
heels out at the other — mattress, pillows, and bed- 
clothes, all accompanying him. After two or 
three unsuccessful attempts of this sort, however, 
the greenest begins to improve, and one or two 
weeks of practice is sufficient to make any one an 

academy, and the regular academic year com- 
mences. The lads of the lowest or fourth class, 
who have been spending the summer on board 
ship, are quartered, together with the more recent 
arrivals, in the main building of the cadets' cjuar- 
ters, and are assigned to rooms on the top floor. 
The whole body of cadets is now organized into 
four divisions, containing an equal number of gun- 
crews consisting of sixteen men, taken from each 
of the four classes. There are a first and a sec- 
ond captain to each gun-crew ; they are under 
the supervision of the commanding officers of the 


adept in the art. The days are spent in drills and 
exercises of all sorts, and are somewhat of a 
preparation for those in which the cadets will 
have to take part during the academic year. Theo- 
retical instruction, also, in the studies they will take 
up during their first year, is given in small doses. 
In September another set of cadets is appointed. 
These form the remainder of the fourth class, and 
although both the June and September new- 
comers are members of the same class, the June 
arrivals are rather inclined to make much of their 
seniority over the " Seps," as the later comers are 
termed. During the latter part of September the 
older cadets return from their summer cruises ; 
those that have been on leave come back to the 

divisions, who are called cadet-lieutenants. The 
whole battalion is under command of the Cadet- 

These cadet officers arc appointed from the first 
and second classes, the highest in rank being ap- 
pointed from the first class : and, as a rule, they 
are looked upon by the "youngsters" with a re- 
spect amounting nearly to awe. 

The daily routine of the school during the greater 
part of the year is as follows : Reveille, at 6 A. M. 
in the fall and spring months, and fifteen minutes 
later in the winter. Then follows " breakfast for- 
mation," with inspection, and reading of the report 
of conduct for the day preceding. Before break- 
fast, prayers are offered by the chaplain. The day 




is divided into tliree periods of two liours each, 
two periods occupying the forenoon. Tlie third, 
or afternoon, period ends at four o'clock. In favor- 
able weather a drill takes place after the third 
period, and lasts until about half-past five. At 6 
P. M. comes supper, after which the time until 7:30 
is spent in recreation. At that hour the bugle- 
call sounds for evening study-hour. This lasts 
until 9:30; and during this time all cadets are 
required to be in their rooms, and are supposed to 
be studying. At ten o'clock " taps " are sounded, 
when lights must be put out, and all must be in 
bed. As Saturday is a half-holiday, only the fore- 
noon is devoted to work, there being two hours 
,of recitations and two spent in drills. The after- 
noon is given up to recreation. 

A limited number of the cadets are allowed to 
visit the city, but must not remain later than sup- 
per-time. No one can enjoy this privilege whose 
average mark in any study for the week previous 
is unsatisfactory, or who has more than a certain 
specified number of demerits for the preceding 
month. On Sunday, of course, there are no reci- 
tations. In the morning, about ten o'clock, the 
entire battalion of cadets, in full-dress uniform, is 
inspected by the commandant, after which the 
cadets are marched to the chapel to attend divine 
service. Those who desire to attend a church 
outside of the academy can do so by obtaining 
special permission from the commandant ; so, al- 
though all are required to engage in some form of 
religious worship, each cadet is at liberty to choose 
that which he prefers. 

As soon as a cadet is admitted into the academy, 
an allowance of five hundred dollars a year is 
credited to him ; but no cadet is allowed to draw 
from the paymaster for spending money more than 

a dollar a month. As cadets are not permitted to 
receive money from outside, you will see that they 
can not form very extravagant habits. 

Each day certain cadets are detailed for duty. 
The ofiicer of the day is taken from the first class, 
and superintendents of each floor are selected from 
each of the four classes. The officer of the day 
has general charge of the building, and the super- 
intendents are responsible for the observance of 
the regulations on their respective floors. They 
are required to make frequent inspections during 
the day, and to send in a written report of all de- 
linquencies at the expiration of their tour of duty. 

Each room in the dormitory is occupied by two 
cadets. One of these is alwa\ s responsible for the 
orderly condition of the room, each cadet taking 
his turn in thus acting as superintendent. The 
rooms are inspected every morning by the officer 
in charge. At this inspection the floors must have 
been thoroughly swept ; the beds must be neatly 
made up ; shoes carefully placed in a line under 
the foot of the bed, and the interiors of wardrobes 
neatly arranged. Any delinquency is reported ; 
so you will see that if naval officers are not men 
who keep things in perfect order, with a place for 
everything, and everything in its place, the blame 
should not be laid to their training in the naval 

The cadets' rooms are furnished with necessary 
articles only. The boys, unlike most college stu- 
dents, are not allowed to exercise their taste in 
attractively decorating their apartments ; they are 
not permitted even to hang pictures on the walls ; 
and the only place available for the exhibition of 
an) thing pictorial is upon the inside surface of the 
wardrobe-door. This may appear too strict a rule ; 
but if the cadets were allowed to indulsre their 



tastes for decoration, those who had money would 
be likely to have elaborately furnished apartments, 
while their poorer companions would be obliged 
to forego that pleasure. This might lead to envy, 
and differences of a disagreeable character might 

have frequently done most efficient work in the 
city of Annapolis, where the appliances for fight- 
ing fires were of the most primitive sort. 

The cadets are good dancers, and occasional 
"hops" are among the recreations allowed. The 


occur, which would be hardly compatible with the 
general contentment which it is desirable to encour- 
age. The cadets, in addition to their other duties, 
also receive instruction in gymnastic exercises, 
boxing, dancing, and swimming; and everything 
is done to encourage athletic sports such as base- 
ball, football, and boating. Once every year they 
give what is termed a " tournatVient." This is 
a performance in the gymnasium, and is usualh' 
witnessed by a number of visitors from outside, 
and by the officers attached to the Academy, 
and their families. The " tournament " comprises 
gymnastic exercises, fencing, boxing, and the like. 
It is usually a highly creditable affair, both to the 
cadets and to their instructors. 

As at all military or naval posts, every precau- 
tion is taken to guard against fire. The cadets 
have a special drill, called " fire-quarters," in which 
the whole battalion is organized into a fire-brigade, 
there being in the Academy a steam fire-engine 
and hose-carriages. At these drills the fire-bell is 
sounded, as if there were an actual alarm, and 
each cadet goes at once to his station. In the 
capacity of firemen, the students of the Academy 

principal hops of the season are, one in January, 
given by the first class; and one in June, given by 
the second class as a farewell to the graduates. At 
both of these hops, which are given in the gymna- 
sium, great skill is shown in decorating the build- 
ing with flags and flowers. The combination of 
these, with brilliant uniforms, happy faces, pretty 
girls, and charming music, makes a scene long to 
be remembered. 

Every summer the first and third classes of 
cadets are sent on what is called the " practice 
cruise." The cadet-midshipmen are sent on board 
of a sailing vessel, and the cadet-engineers on a 
steamer. The sailing vessel is manned principally 
by the cadets. They are regularly stationed, like 
a ship's company, — the first class as petty-officers 
and seamen, the third class as ordinary seamen 
and landsmen. This cruise, in addition to the 
seamanship drills at the Academy, enables a 
cadet to become thoroughly familiar with all the 
duties of the sailor. He learns to heave the lead, 
steer the ship, reef and furl the sails, and, in fact, 
to perform every task which falls to a Jack tar. 
The practice cruise thus gives a thorough school- 




ing in practical navigation, — the cadets being 
required each day, wlien at sea, to report the sliip's 
position, and, when in port, to perform duties 
similar to those devolving upon a navigating 
officer. Each member of the first class is also 
made to practice as officer of the deck, and 
each has to take his turn in handling the ship 
in different maneuvers, such as tacking, wear- 
ing, getting under way, coming to anchor, and 
so on. Such a cruise really gives the young 
sailors more practical experience than they can 
possibly get later, even during two or three years' 
experience in the service. 

No description of the Naval Academy would be 
complete without an attempt to convey some idea 
of the numerous peculinr words and phrases used 
by the cadets. They never speak, for instance, of 
studying; they call it "boning." A cadet who is 
dismissed is said to have been "bilged." Exami- 
nations are "exams."; unsatisfactory is " unsat." ; 
and there is a long list of briny abbreviations used 
in expressing their sentiments, most of them 

and sometimes these names are very expressive, 
and strongly suggestive of the little peculiarities of 
the individuals. 

Four years slip by rapidly, and at last the great 
day of graduation arrives. The graduating exer- 
cises take place in the month of June, in the pres- 
ence of a board of official visitors appointed by the 
Secretary of the Navy; and there are also non- 
official visitors, the relatives and friends of the 
cadets. This is a time of intense excitement to all 
interested, and is a period of great mental and 
physical strain upon the student, for exami- 
nations at the Naval Academy are not "child's 
play " ; they are something more than mere for- 
malities. On the day of graduation the diplomas 
are presented to the graduates in presence of the 
whole battalion of cadets and the officers of the in- 
stitution, at which time an address to the graduat- 
ing class is delivered by a member of the Board of 
Visitors. This exercise ends the academic year ; 
from that time the school ceases active operations 
till the school year again begins, in the fall term. 


hardly intelligible to an outsider. When, there- 
fore, you hear a cadet speak of "making fast" 
his shoe-strings, you must know that he simply 
means tying them. There is not an officer or 
professor who is not nicknamed by the students ; 

Of course, four years of boy-hfe like that passed 
within the walls of the Academy must witness many 
pranks and escapades on the part of the young 
students. Let me, in closing, give you an account 
of one of these. 




About Christmas 
and New Year's Day 
the AnnapoHs Ex- 
press is busy in de- 
Hvcring numerous 
boxes at the Acad- 
emy ; boxes are sent 
to the cadets from 
their homes, and, as 
a rule, contain all 
sorts of good things to 
eat. The larger the 
box the more does 
the recipient gain in 
popularity among 
his classmates, as all 
whom the fortunate 
cadet includes among 
his circle of friends 
expect to come in for 
a share of the good 
things. Now, as a 
matter of course, 
a nice, well-behaved 
" young gentleman," 
who observes the reg- 
ulations (as all 
should do), and is 
rather averse to lay- 
ing up for himself a 
store of demerits, 
will revel, with his 
boon companions, in 
the delicious feast 
during the hours of 
recreation, when such 
things are allowable. 
Not so, however, his 
more mischievous 
comrade-in-arms who 
possesses a taste for 
the somewhat highly 

spiced incidents connected with Academy life. He 
will gather his chosen companions around him at 
the hour of midnight, and then, in the " dead 
waste and middle of the night," will they gorge 
themselves with the rich dainties. But woe betide 
those daring law-breakers should the officer-in- 
charge happen to enter the room during one of 
the special night inspections in which he now and 
then finds it his duty to indulge. 

One cold night, about Christmas time, a large 
and inviting-looking box was discovered in a room 
that shall here be numberless. It wore an expres- 
sion indicative of a most passionate longing to 
have its contents devoured. The occupants of the 
room and joint-owners of the precious box agreed 


to gather together a few genial and appreciative 
souls after " taps," and then do justice to the 
tempting viands. 

Informing the other young gentlemen interested 
of their intention, at ten o'clock inspection all 
were found properly nestled in their beds and 
apparently asleep. Allowing ample time for the 
completion of the inspection, and for all well- 
regulated officers-in-cliarge to have retired, these 
wily tars suddenly awoke, and very stealthily the 
invited guests trooped into the room. They then 
proceeded in rather a burglar-like manner to open 
the chest containing the hidden treasures. First 
came two large turkeys, beautifully roasted ; then 
quail;, with delicious jelly, fruit, nuts, cakes, and 





SO on through the list of articles to be found in 
every well-filled Christmas box. 

The company set to work with vigor, and in 
a short time were deep in gastronomic bliss. 
Suddenly was heard in the adjoining corridor 
the tramp of feet and the sounds produced by the 
clanking of a sword. There was no uncertainty as 
to the significance of this ominous warning. The 
boys knew that the officer-in-charge, having for 
some reason become suspicious, had directed his 
steps to this particular room. There was no time 
for deliberation — the efficient naval officer must 
learn to be prepared for all emergencies ! Such 
visitors must find hiding-places, and they disposed 
themselves in this manner : One in each ward- 
robe, one under each bed, while the fifth crouched 
in the fire-place, concealing hiinself with the fire- 
board ; the sixth and last luckless youth, finding 
no unoccupied place in the room, lowered himself 
out of the window, and found a resting-place for 
his feet on the capstone of the window below, 
steadying himself by clinging to the window-sill. 
In this way, by pulling down the shade in front of 
him, he managed to be completely hidden from the 
view of any one in the room. The two occupants 
of the room were in their beds in a twinkling, 
snoring vigorously. Rap ! rap ! rap ! at the door; 
no answer. Thereupon, in walks the officer-in- 

charge. The snores increased in quantity and 
quality of tone. " Mr. Blank," says the officer-in- 
charge ; but that gentleman is so deeply wrapt in 
innocent and peaceful slumbers that the summons 
fails to arouse him. The officer-in-charge sees and 
smells evidences of the feast ; and, having been 
a happy student himself, proceeds to investigate 
in a most thorough manner. Opening the ward- 
robe doors, he brings forth the temporary occupants 
of those pieces of furniture, now decidedly crest- 
fallen and meek : similarly he discovers those hid- 
den under the bed and in the fire-place. 

So the five bon-vivants are summarily disposed 
of; but do not let us forget the unfortunate sixth 
member, who all this time has been hanging out- 
side the window, scantily costumed in a night-shirt, 
^'ou will remember that all this happened on a 
bitterly cold winter night. A fur-lined overcoat 
would be none too warm on such a night. What, 
then, must be the suffering that this scantily clad 
cadet is undergoing? It is truly terrible to con- 
teinplate. How sincerely is he bemoaning his fate, 
and how earnestly he regrets having left his warm 
bed ; how firmly does he resolve never to risk it 
again, even should it be to taste of a repast a hun- 
dred times finer ! The officer-in-charge, leaving 
the room, has just closed the door, and our hero, 
with a deeply sincere sigh of thanksgiving, is about 




to draw his stiffened limbs and body inside the 
room again, comforting himself with the one mor- 
sel of consolation, that he at least has escaped 
detection. But, alas! — misfortune does not yet 
relinquish her hold on him. Walking along the 
street below the ill-fated window, is the Command- 
ant of Cadets, muffled up in his warm overcoat. 
His eye is suddenly attracted by an object on 
the outside of the building, and as he approaches 
nearer, he puzzles his head to find out what it 
can possibly be. Just as he is almost under the 
window, he sees indications that this white and 
apparently inanimate thing is about to put itself 
in motion. Then does he fully appreciate what 
this specter-like apparition is, and exclaims, 
"What are you doing out there, sir, at this time 
of night and in that disgraceful costume ? Get in at 
once, and report yourself to the officer-in-charge ! " 
Just at this juncture the officer-in-charge comes out 
of the building, meeting the Commandant, who 

directs his attention to the offender. " Air. , 

go up to that room and see if that young gentle- 

man has developed symptoms of insanit\-, and, if 
necessary, have him placed under medical treat- 

The officer-in-charge, promptly obeying, again 
enters the room, finds the apparently insane ad- 
venturer cold, shivering, and repentant, takes his 
name and orders him to his room, making a great 
effort to keep a straight face. The 'officer-in- 
charge, feeling that now he has conscientiously 
performed his duty, '"turns in" for the night. 
The next morning, when the offenders' names are 
read from the conduct report, they excite no com- 
ment, until the officer reads the name of one 
reported for "hanging; out of window, dressed in 
night-shirt, at 12:35 A. M." Then the gravity of 
the battalion is on the ver}' verge of dissolution, 
and our hero, standing in the ranks, with a most 
woe-begone countenance, suffering from all the 
tortures of acute influenza, is brought to a full 
realization of the fact that the old adage about 
stolen fruit being the sweetest is not always to be 
relied upon. 



By Robert U. Johnson. 

It seems to me, if I were a frog, 

I 'd like a summer home at Cutchogue ; 
Ciit-chogue — Cut- choguc — Cut-chogiie — Cut- 
chogue ! 

Oh, I 'd jump at a water-front at Cutchogue. 

And then how nice, if I were a chicken, 
'T would be to live on the Wissahickon ; 

Wissec-sec-Jdck' n .' Wisscc-scc-Iiick' n / 
'T would be c/ieap-c/i cap-cheap on the Wissa- 

And if I were a dog, in search of some flowery 
Dogwood resort, I 'd resort to the Bowery, 

And, whether the weather were dry or showery, 
My bark would glide through its Bow-ivow- 
ivowery — 

Er- r-r-r- wow — cr-r-r-r- wow — er - wow - wow - 


If I were a colt with a wheezy whinny 

Or a racking pain, I 'd visit Virginny, 
And if by marauders my gate should be broken. 

For a coit's revolver I 'd send to Hoboken. 
Whe-he-he-hc-he ! IVhe-he-he-he-he ! 
No whinny sounds tinny in ole Virginny. 

And every year, if I were a rabbit, 
I 'd go to Newboro' by force of habit ; 

How softly my rablets would purr when folks pet us, 
And murmur, when asked to go dining, — Oh ! 
lettuce ! ■' 

'T would be so like New Early York — (begging 

your pardon ! 
Of course I mean Early New York) — if they 'd 

let us 

Go out in the evenings to nibble O — 's garden. 

If I were a cock o' the walk, I 'd ride 

From end to end of the railroad guide, 
And I 'd sing with the car wheels (allegro, not 
largo ) : 

Tiick-tuck-in-the-ticket-that-takes-to- Chi-C PL-go ! 
('T is an irony sound, when you can not so far go) ; 

Tuck-tuck-in-the-ticket, tnck-tuck-in-the-ticket^ 
Titck-tiick-in-the-tickct-that-takes-to-Chi-CK-go ! 


By Mrs. C. £.mma Cheney. 

" Well, I call Homburg a pretty stupid place," 
said Harry, shutting his book with a vindictive 

"So it is, for five days in the week," replied 
Walter; " but the sixth is all the jollier for that." 

"We need to stretch our tongues and rest our 
tired jaws once in a while," little Phil chimed in. 
" Why my mind really aches with thinking nothing 
but German, from Monday morning till Friday 

"Why don't you think in English, then?" 
Fritz asked. 

"Nonsense!" answered his brother. "You 
ought to know that a fellow can't think in one 
language and speak in another. I 'm a thorough 
German in school hours, ^ sauerkraut ' and all." 

"But, Harry, we are Americans all the rest of 

the time, — regular 'star-spangled-banner' boys, 
are n't we ? " 

Poor Phil, a little homesick perhaps, clung 
loyally to his own beloved country ; so his cousin 
Walter said, kindly, " Yes, Phil, of course we are. 
Hurrah for home ! " and Phil's face brightened. 

Walter was a sturdy, rosy-cheeked lad, who had 
no need to drink from the health-giving fountains 
for which Homburg is so celebrated. His cousin 
Philip, although not much younger, was sensitive 
and delicate in appearance, and so small that the 
boys sometimes nicknamed him " Filbert." 

The other two boys, Harry and Fritz, were at 
Homburg because their mother was an invalid. 

So these four friends lived under the same roof, 
studied with the same master, and had right royal 
fun together. 


FOR THEIR country's SAKE. 


The next day was Saturday. It happened also 
to be a fete day ; indeed, these festivals come so fre- 
quently, in Germany, that one wonders whether 
the people ever do anything but play. 

On this particular Saturday, the boys had per- 
mission to spend the whole day just as they chose; 
which made it a red-letter day in advance. 

Up in the morning with the birds, no bird was 
happier than they. The weather was all that even 
a boy's heart could wish. Hastening to the Britniien 
for a morning draught, the very stones of the red 
mosaic on which they stood seemed to catch the sun- 
shine and hold it fast. Pretty peasant girls in gala 
dresses, wearing jaunty little caps, dipped up for 
them the bubbling water in beautiful Bohemian- 
glass tumblers, of every shape and color. 

Banks of autumn-tinted flowers striped the thick 
green turf here and there. Ivies covered ugly, 
broken walls, making them comely. And over 
all hung a soft, bluish haze, half hiding the little 
town as it lay asleep at the foot of the Taunus 

Already the orchestra was playing a grand and 
solemn hymn, and with the music a glad thanksgiv- 
ing crept into the hearts of the boys. But these 
happy lads did not know that all this beauty and 
brightness made so large a share of their pleasure. 
Even grown-up people seldom find out such things. 

This holiday did not begin an hour too soon for 
all that the friends had planned to do. Laughing 
and shouting for very joy in their freedom, they 
climbed part way up a spur of the nearest mount- 
ain, gathering nuts and gorgeous autumn-leaves, or 
cracking innocent stones, hoping to find a living 
toad imprisoned in one, as sometimes happens. 

When they grew tired of this, they thought of 
the old castle ; and, after some delay, they 
obtained permission to enter it. 

" Let us pretend that we are princes paying a 
visit to the Landgrave," suggested Walter. 

" Or ambassadors from America," Phil hinted, 

" What is an ambassador?" asked Fritz. 

" Why, he is a — a — an advertisement for his 
country," Phil stammered. 

" Well, I '11 wager America will be pretty well 
known if Phil is to be her ambassador," said 
Walter, laughing. 

Poor Phil flushed, but answered, bravely : 

" Then I hope everybody will love her as well 
as I do." 

Then they all went in, through the grounds, which 
are laid out like an English park. They climbed 
up to the very turrets of the ancient castle, from 
which the town looked like a toy village. The tall 
"white tower" filled them with awe. Everybody 
knows that it dates from the twelfth century; but 

it looked so grand and solid that the difficulty lay 
in imagining that it had not been there always. 

When these self-appointed "ambassadors" 
came out of the castle-gate into the world again, 
they decided to pay a visit of " inspection " to 
the linen and woolen factories. At that time 
Homburg had become too gay and pleasure-loving 
to give much attention to her manufactories, but 
once these were her only means of getting a living. 
The boys went through the ceremony of asking 
questions and taking notes, with many a merry 
jest about the "Report" w'nich they would make 
to their government. Phil was thinking all the 
tim.e of the mills of Lowell and Willimantic, away 
across the water, but he did not confess it, for fear 
of being laughed at. 

Being boys of hearty appetites they sandwiched 
their numerous adventures with luncheon, which 
was partly supplied from the general lunch-basket 
and partly procured at stalls or cafes, and of course 
thoroughly enjoyed. 

At length our heroes entered the pleasant park 
again. Through tangles of green, past the Kaiser 
spring, over carpets of yellow leaves, — on they 
strolled, until they were tired. The park was a 
picture of sweet content on that soft, hazy after- 
noon. Here and there were seated women, busily 
knitting, while quaint little children played at their 
feet ; and the orchestra — always the orchestra — 
played drowsily. 

Again the boyish appet-ite asserted itself and, 
very naturally, Walter suggested that they should 
follow the example of all the world, and order ices. 
This proposal was received with applause, and they 
made their way to the Kursaal. 

Entering the Kursaal, they seated themselves at 
a table, and soon four pairs of bright eyes were 
intently studying German. A bill of fare is cer- 
tainly an attractive means of making the acquaint- 
ance of a foreign language. This sudden attack 
of studiousness resulted in a different order from 
each reader. Creams, and the funny little cakes 
one finds in Germany, were brought and quickly 

Fritz, who had finished his allowance almost too 
promptly for strict politeness, exclaimed : 

" Boys, that pistachc is the very best thing that 
ever was made ! " 

" I can't see how you found it out," said Walter. 
" There was n't enough of mine for a good taste." 

" Let us all try it ! " said Harry, and the others, 
nothing loth, consented ; so a second order was 
filled. It was a merry party, eating and chatting 
in true boyish freedom. 

At length Walter, who had proposed the treat, 
called for the bill. He and Harry had a good- 
natured scramble for it when it came ; for, after the 


FOR THEIR country's SAKE. 


lordly manners of their elders, each wished to pay 
for all. 

Walter was victorious, but upon opening his 
purse, he was surprised to find that it contained 
scarcely a tenth of the sum necessary. 

" Here, Walter, let me lend it to you," said 
Harry, quickly guessing the truth. Upon close 
inspection, he discovered, to his dismay, that his 
purse also was nearly empty. 

"Let us "all put in together," Phil suggested; 
and in a twinkling the scanty contents of four 
purses lay side by side. A glance at the whole 
amount forced upon the boys the awful truth 
that even this would not meet the bill. They 
had taken no note of the krciitzers during the 
day, and therefore the marks were now lacking. 

" What shall we do ? " they looked rather than 

" We ought to have brought a nurse to look after 
us," said Walter, savagely. 

" Tell 'em this is all the money we have," Fritz 

"Yes, and be arrested for debt and put in 
prison," Harry added. 

" They would never dare to do such a thing to 
Americans,'''' said little Phil, looking very white. 

"Of course they dare, and they unll," insisted 
Walter ; " the police arrest everybody in this hor- 
rid country, without any reason whatever." 

" Ask the man at the desk to trust us," again 
Fri^z pleaded. 

But his brother said, pettishly : 

" Don't be a baby, Fritz. If we had n't taken 
a second ' help,' we would have been all right." 

" Well, who proposed it, I should like to know ? " 
demanded Fritz. 

" You made us think of it, anyway," Harry re- 
plied, a little ashamed to lay the blame upon his 
younger brother, yet not quite equal to assuming 
the burden himself 

" Quarreling won't do any good, boys," quavered 
poor Phil, trembling in every limb. "We had 
better confess at once." 

" All right, Filbert ! suppose 7<3« do it. You are 



FOR THEIR country's SAKE. 

always so ready to make suggestions, you can go 
fight it out alone." Harry's words and tone 
showed that he was getting cross ; and little Fritz 
knew that this was Harry's way of showing that he 
was scared ; so Fritz burst into a flood of tears. 
He felt that if Harry was frightened, all was lost. 

" Oh, dear ! " he sobbed, " I know we shall all 
be shut up in a dark dungeon under the sea for a 
great many years, and our friends will never know 
it — and — and — then we shall be — hung for 
debt ! " 

Every moment things grew worse. Nothing but 
little paper napkins and empty dishes gave evi- 
dence of the feast so lately enjoyed. Here stood 
the waiter, in amazement, not able to understand 
a word. In those pale, frightened faces looking so 
wofully across the table at each other, one could 
scarcely recognize the happy boys who had set out 
so gayly in the morning. 

A gentleman who was seated with a party of 
ladies, near them, had observed their distress. At 
this moment he leaned over, and touching Walter 
on the arm, he said kindly : 

" Boys, I have overheard your conversation, and 

you must allow me to help you out of your diffi- 
culty. I have been very kindly treated in America, 
where I was a stranger. Now, I am only too glad 
to be of service to an American," at the same time 
pressing an English sovereign into Walter's hand. 
Too greatly relieved to hesitate, the money was 
gladly accepted, and after heartily thanking the un- 
known giver the " ambassadors " went home, crest- 
fallen, but comforted. 

On his way to church with his mother the next 
morning, Walter was both glad and abashed to 
see, in an open carriage, the stranger who had been 
his generous banker. He lifted his hat politely, 
and received a friendly nod of recognition in re- 

" Why, my son, do you know to whom you are 
bowing?" his mother asked, in surprise. " That 
is the Prince of Wales ! " 

" Well, Mamma, he deserves to be a prince, for 
he certainly was most kind and gentlemanly to us 
boys," replied Walter; and as he thought of this 
"gentil deed " he was ready to echo Lord Tenny- 
son's famous line, 

" Kind hearts are more than coronets." 

By Tudor Jenks. 

Beating drums — 

Here it comes ! ... 

They are just turning into our street. 

At the noise, 

How the boys 

Come running with clattering feet ! 
That 's the drum-major, high twirling his staff, 
Looking as though it were wicked to laugh, 
Followed by drummer-boys, smaller by half. 
Each so exquisitely neat. 

Hear the fife ! 
In my life 

I never heard piping s6 shrill. 
And the band 
Is so grand ! — 

(Though puffing from climbing the hill). 
Now the loud cymbals break in with a clash. 
How, in the sunshine, they glitter and flash ! 
Look at the captain — see his red sash ! 
Truly it gives one a thrill. 

What a line — 
That is fine ! 

Never was marching so true, — 
I would like 
A big spike 

In the top of my hat, would n't you ? 
How grand I should be in a uniform red. 
With such a fierce helmet a-top of my head ; 
Then for my country when I'd fought and — bled? 
No. I don't think that would do. 

Soon they 're past. 
And at last 

Ceases the marching throng. 

But the ear 

Still can hear 

An echo of martial song. 

Softening, faihng, and dying away, 

While we return to our own work-a-day 

Rattle and rumble of horse-car and dray, 

Wearily dragging along. 


By Palmer Cox. 

The bats had hardly taken flight, 
To catch the insects of the night; 
Or fowls secured a place of rest 

Where Reynard's paw could not molest, 
When Brownies gathered to pursue 
Their plans regarding pleasures new. 
Said one : " In spite of hand or string. 
Now hats fly round like crows in spring, 
Exposing heads to gusts of air. 
That ill the slightest draught can bear ; 
While, high above the tallest tower, 
At morning, noon, and evening hour, 
The youngsters' kites with streaming tails 
Are riding out the strongest gales. 
The doves in steeples hide away 
Or keep their houses through the day, 
Mistaking every kite that flies 
For birds of prey of wondrous size." 
" You 're not alone," another cried, 
" In taking note. I, too, have spied 
The boys of late, in street and court, 
Or on the roofs, at this fine sport ; 
But yesternight I chanced to see 
A kite entangled in a tree. 
The string was nowhere to be found ; 
The tail about a bough was wound. 
Some birds had torn the paper out, 
To line their nests, in trees about, 
But there beside the wreck I staid, 
Until I learned how kites are made. 
On me you safely may depend, 
To show the way to cut and bend. 


So let us now, while winds are h 
Our hands at once to work apply 
And from the hill that lifts its 

So far above the neighboring 

We '11 send our kites 

aloft in crowds, 
To lose themselves 

among the . y^,^..^.' 

A smile on every 
face was spread, 

At thought of fun 
like this, ahead ; 

And quickly all the 
plans were laid. 

And work forevery 
Brownie made. 

Some to the kitch- 
ens ran in haste, 

To manufacture 
pots of paste. 
Some ran for 
tacks or shin- 
And some for 
rags to make 
the tails, 


more with loads 
paper came. 
Or whittled sticks 
make the frame. 
The strings, that others gathered, soon 
Seemed long enough to reach the moon. 
But where such quantities they found, 
'T is not so easy to expound ; — 

Perhaps some twine- 
shop, standing nigh. 
Was raided for the 

large supply ; 
Perhaps some youthful 

angler whines 
About his missing fish- 
But let them find things 

where they will. 
The Brownies must be 

furnished still ; 
And those who can't such losses stand. 
Will have to charge it to the Band. 

With busy 



gers, well 
/y^ plied, 

They clipped and 
pasted, bent and tied ; 
With paint and brush 

some ran about 
From kite to kite, to 

fit them out. 
On some they paint a 
visage fair, 
While others would affright a bear, 
Nor was it long (as one might guess 
Who knows what skill their hands possess) 
Before the kites, with string and tail. 
Were all prepared to ride the gale; 

And oh, the climax of their glee 
Was reached when kites were floating free ! 
So quick they mounted through the air 
That tangling strings played mischief there, 
And threatened to remove from land 
Some valued members of the band. 

Vol. XV.— 45. 




The birds of night were horrified 
At finding kites on every side, 
And netted strings, that seemed to be 
Designed to limit action free. 

But Brownies stood or ran about, 
Now winding up, now letting out; 
Now giving kites more tail or strin 
Now wishing for a longer string ; 
Until they saw the hints of day 
Approaching thtough the mornin 

By Eugene M. Camp. 

" Are you the editor ? " 

The scene was the interior of a newspaper office 
in one of the large cities. About the room lay 
partly cut newspapers, and in cases on the walls 
were many volumes of reference books. The desk, 
which stood in the center of the room, had upon it a 
pad of writing-paper, a paste-pot, a huge pair of 
shears, and the feet of the man to whom the query 
was addressed. 

The visitor was a young lad whose frank, fresh 
face and bright eyes were in striking contrast to 
the features of the man at the desk. The face 
of the latter had the tired expression common 
among brain-workers, particularly those who work 
at night, as editors of morning newspapers are 
compelled to do. 

" Yes, I am one of them," was the reply that 
came to the boy from behind the newspaper. 



The tone of the answer gave the questioner 
confidence. Advancing to the table, the lad 
quickly inverted a small box which he carried, 
and there rolled out beside the paste-pot, and over 
the big shears, what would have made, if meas- 
ured, fully a quart of coins ; five and ten cent pieces, 
with an occasional paper bill of a low denomination. 

"Then this is for you," said the lad, politely 
lifting his cap. 

"Why for me?" asked the astonished editor, 
throwing away his paper. " Tell me about it." 

"Oh, yes, sir," replied the boy, nervously fum- 
bling in his pocket for a letter. "We gave an 
entertainment last night, and this is the money 
we got. Please send it to those folks out in Ohio 
whose homes have been washed away by the 
floods. My father said I was to ask you to send it 
wherever you thought it would do the most good 
and that I was to get a receipt from you for it," 
said the little business-man. 

The details were soon settled. The receipt was 
given, and with the document carefully deposited 
in his pocket, the lad politely lifted his cap and 
bade the editor " Good-day." Next morning the 
readers of the paper found in its columns the fol- 
lowing story : 

" An excellent illustration of what well-directed 
effort can do was given in the little suburban 

village of W , on Thursday evening. It is 

doubly interesting, too, because it was undertaken 
and successfully carried out by six children, whose 
ages range from seven to twelve years. These six 
bright little people had taken a prominent part in 
an entertainment given some weeks previous, in 
which they had had some stage training. When 
the sad story of the floods reached them, they 
began to wonder if they could not do something 
to assist the distant children whose homes had 
been swept away. The feeling grew so strong 
among them that they held a meeting on the 
street-corner after school, and decided to ask per- 
mission of their parents to give a public enter- 
tainment, in which they were to repeat their pre- 
vious efforts, and add enough to the 
to make the proposed entertainment of sufficient 

"At the end of the week the children had arranged 
all details. They had divided their programme 
into four parts, the first two of which were made up 
mainly of recitations and music. The third part 
was an exhibition of selections from Mother Goose. 
These parts were taken in equal number by the 
three boys and the three girls composing the com- 
pany. As they were so small, they gave themselves 
the name of ' The Little Six.' The fourth part of 
the programme consisted of a comedietta entitled 

'Art in the Rosewood Family,' which was the 
same these little folks had given on the previous 
occasion. In the short space of a week, the entire 
entertainment was prepared and given. The pro- 
ceeds amounted to $56.75, which will be seen to 
be large when it is stated that the price of admission 
was only fifteen cents. 

"Putting the amount of money received into a 
small box, the eldest member of the company, 
who is twelve, came into the city yesterday, and 
asked the editor of this paper to forward the 
amount to the sufferers by the floods. Of course 
the request was complied with, and the money 
forwarded by telegraph to the president of ' The 
Red Cross Society.' This act of 'The Little 
Six ' is so praisew orthy, and at the same time so 
unique, that we are sure our readers will be glad to 
learn in due time of the disposition of the money." 

At the time the facts occurred upon which the 
foregoing story is founded, the Ohio River was 
overflowing its banks to such an extent that the 
homes and crops of thousands of people had been 
washed away and destroyed. Damage amounting 
to millions of dollars had been done. In some of 
the cities the water rose even to the second-story 
windows of the houses. The national government, 
through its War Department, distributed tents and 
rations to the unfortunate people, but as any ST. 
Nicholas boy or girl will see, upon a moment's 
thought, a great burden must be borne by the 
fathers and mothers of these destroyed homes in 
their efforts to repair their broken fortunes as soon 
as the floods should have receded. 

To assist people in such emergencies, there is an 
organization called " The Society of the Red Cross." 
It is a very great and a very humane society. It is 
composed of kind-hearted men and women, and 
has branch organizations in every civilized country 
in the world. This society goes to the relief of 
sufferers by flood, war, famine, or any similar 
calamity. Of course its representatives were at 
that time in the Ohio Valley, and were doing all 
they could for the afflicted people. 

At the head of the American Branch of " The 
Society of the Red Cross" is Miss Clara Barton, 
a noble woman whose unselfish work has made 
her to be loved and honored wherever she is known. 
To her the editor intrusted the money contributed 
by " The Little Six." 

Some weeks had elapsed, when one morning the 
editor of the great city paper received a letter 
which bore the seal of the Red Cross Society. It 
was postmarked " Shawnectown, 111." The next 
morning the readers of the paper found in its 
columns another story. It was written by Miss 
Barton herself, and was as follows : 



"Few incidents have ever touched me more 
deeply than the story of ' The Little Six,' ;ind I 
determined to find, if possible, a special place for 
their offering. We have been for weeks in the 
flooded districts, and have been as far south as 
Memphis, calling at all places along the river, and 
distributing food, clothing, and money wherever 
we found them needed. We turned up-stream 
from IVIemphis, and came slowly to Cairo, and 
then entered the swollen Ohio. But in no quar- 
ter did we find the special place for the money 

from our little W friends. Yesterday, when 

we were a few miles below Shawneetown, there 
appeared on the Illinois bank of the river a 
woman, who waved a shawl as a signal for us 
to come ashore. We quickly answered her call 
for aid. 

"Climbing the bank was a difficult task, for the 
water had made the ground slippery, and despite 
the fact that we put down boards, we often sank 
over shoe-tops in the mud. We followed the 
woman some distance from the bank. Everywhere 
there was a dreary waste. Trees had been torn 
out by the roots. Buildings were either lying 
upon their sides or had been reduced to flood- 
wood, and the ground was cut up by great ditches 
washed out by the receding waters. 

" In the midst of this desolation, the woman led 
the way to a small corn-crib, that in some way 
had withstood the floods. Reaching it, she turned 
to tell us her story, and I noticed that the trials 
she had undergone had left great furrows of care 
in her face, like the furrows in the earth about us. 
She had a hard expression, but determination and 
honesty were shown in her countenance, while her 
eyes told of her faith in Providence, even under 
her present hard conditions. 

" It seems scarcely credible that any one could 
have been so hopeful as she. Two years ago the 
family had completed a nice home, small and 
modest, but comfortable, and would have finished 
paying for it but for the failure of the corn crop. 
They had hoped in the future, but the next year 
the cholera attacked their hogs and nearly all of 
them died. Last autumn the father became ill, and 
after much suffering he died at Christmas. This 
spring the floods came and carried away their home, 
leaving them only a corn-crib ; which seven of them 
had made to answer for a home for nearly three 
weeks. The floods also drowned their horses, and 
carried away all of their other stock, save half-a- 
dozen chickens, two of which were pecking about 

* See " Letter-1 

in search of food while the woman was telling her 

"As we looked into the miserable corn-crib, and 
saw the straw pallet on which the family had slept, 
and the rags in the cracks, to keep out the March 
wind, I could not help crying. There were several 
children about, and all were neatly dressed. One 
of the older ones said he had six fresh-laid eggs 
which he would like to sell us, — an incident which 
showed the thriftiness of the family, despite their 

" ' How many children have you ? ' I asked, when 
the woman had finished her story. 
" 'Six,' quickly came the reply. 
" ' The very place ' 

" ' For that money,' broke in my faithful lieuten- 
ant, the doctor, who stood at my side; and who, 
like the rest of our relieving party, was deeply 
affected by the tale of suffering we had heard. 

"I related the story of ' The Little Six' in full, 
and told her I was going to give her their money 
to help her to rebuild her home. It was her turn 
now, and the tears ran freely down her care-worn 
cheeks. We brought up from the boat a large 
quantity of clothing, a barrel of flour, several boxes 
of provisions, a bag of corn for the chickens, and 
some fresh fruit for the children. I gave the 
contribution from ' The Little Six ' intact into the 
woman's hands, and when I bought the eggs, I 
slipped into the boy's pocket several bright gold- 
pieces, for I knew he and his mother would need 
them before the autumn. 

" 'Will you name the house when you have it 
rebuilt ? ' I asked, as we at last prepared to go. 
The woman caught my meaning, and smiling 
through her tears, replied : 

'"I think we will call it The Little Six.' 

"And now, my dear Mr. Editor, I wish you would 
personally thank each of ' The Little Six ' * for me, 
and tell them how much I think of their noble 
deed. I have recorded the story upon the books 
of the Red Cross Society ; but I hope and believe 
that this is not the last kind act my little friends 
will have placed to their credit, if not on the 
books of the Red Cross, then in another book, in 
which such good deeds are recorded forever." 

Did not Miss Barton make an excellent disposi- 
tion of the money which our little friend brought 
to the editor that morning? And might not other 
children, should the necessity arise, do as nobly as 
these children did ? 

>x," page 716. 

tag-e in the country. It was a very pleasant 
place. Some of the branches of a big oak-tree that grew beside it made a 
green, leafy roof for it. A pair of saucy sparrows had a nest on one of these 
branches. They chirped and twittered and scolded all day long. But they 
did not chirp and twitter and scold now, because it was night and they were 

A toad hopped up the porch steps, and looked at the box. His eyes 
shone like little stars. 

" What 's in it ? " he asked. 

" Fireworks," answered some small, crackling voices, through a wide 
crack in the top. 

" Oh ! I see," said the toad. 

" What a fib ! You don't," said the voices. 

" Well, I know," said the toad. 

" What do you know ? " asked the queer voices. 

" I know what you 've come here for," answered the toad. "You 've 
come here to go off. You '11 go off to-morrow night. I saw a lot of your 




relatives last Fourth ol July. Fuie fellows they 
were, but too bright to last. y\nd such a 
fuss and a noise as they made 
when they did go oft 
r izz-izz 

k-k-r-k-k-r-k-k-r-k — splutter-splutter- splutter — swish-ish-ish-ish — bang !- 

bang !-bang " But, before he could say another word, " Good-night ! " 

said the small voices, in tones more crackling than ever. 

" What ? " asked the toad. 

" Good-night f snapped the voices. 

"Oh! good-night," said the toad; and he turned around and hopped 
down the steps. 

As soon as he was gone, one of the fireworks began to talk. 



tiresome toads are," it said. " I 'm glad I 'm not one. I 'd much rather be 
a pin-wheel. For, though pin-wheels don't live so long, they end their 
lives in a blaze of glory. And what pleasure they give to those who are 
watching them, in their last bright moments. Just fancy : I 'm lighted, 
and away I go in a shower of sj^arks, round and round and round, faster 
and faster and faster, the children shouting with delight. Then, whizz ! in 
a flash I turn the other way, and round and round and round I go, faster 

and faster and faster " 

"Pshaw ! " rudely interrupted one of the other fireworks. " Pin-wheels 
don't amount to mucli. They can be seen only by the few people who are 
near them, and they have to be fastened to a fence or a tree to be seen at 
all. Now, / am a sky-rocket. I leave the earth behind me when I am set 
free, and away I soar like a bird, up, up, up, among the stars. And there I 
burst into stars, myself, — stars of all the colors of the rainbow, and so beau- 


71 1 

tiful that the real sky-stars turn pale. And hundreds and thousands of 
people see me. Yes, hundreds and thousands." 

The pin-wheel made no reply. 
Yes, hundreds and thousands," repeated the sky-rocket. But all the 
other fireworks remained silent. 

The toad hopped up the porch steps again. 

" And what then ? " he asked. 

" Oh ! yoiL 're back, are you ? " said the sky-rocket. 

" Yes, I 'm back," said the toad. " I did n't go far. Not so far but that 
I 've heard all that you and the pin-wheel have been saying. You look 
down on the pin-wheel because you are going to soar like a bird, do you ? 
And jK^'^^r stars are sure to make the real sky-stars turn pale, are they ? And 
hundreds, yes, thousands of people will see and admire you, will they ? 
And what then ? " 

" Well, what then ? " asked the sky-rocket. 

"Why, then, what is left of you will come down to earth again, and it 
will be nothing but a small piece of wood. And all that will be left of the 
pin- wheel will be a small piece of wood also. So you see, though yoic 
begin in a much grander manner, both end in the very same way." 

" Good-night," snapped the sky-rocket. 

" What? " asked the toad. 

''Good-night!'' ^^f^,- 
" Oh! good-night," said the toad; and down the steps he hopped % 

again, and away to his ; home near the well. 

But he had spoken III the truth ; for on the next night at 

that same hour, there IS was nothing left of either the pin-wheel 

or the sky-rocket but i a small piece of wood. 




Good-day, my children, herein America, there 
in England, and in all other countries where the 
language called English is spoken — or any other 
language which may have a local value. Some- 
how, as July approaches, and all good Jacks-in- 
the-Pulpit know that the odor of gunpowder must 
for one long, noisy day, blend with the breath of the 
daisies, it makes one feel like rejoicing that the 
days of strife between England and America are 
over, and that little Yankee Doodles and juvenile 
John Bulls will find it out as they grow older. 

Fire your crackers, my little ones, here — but 
make your prettiest bows and curtseys to your 
brothers and sisters across the seas, even while 
you frankly confess that it beats all how good it 
feels to be an American on the Fourth of July. 


Now, my littlest folk, will you kindly roll on the 
grass for a few moments, or hunt for four-leaved 
clovers whilst your Jack reads a very important 
letter to the big boys and girls ? 

Well, well, — you all wish to hear — do you? 
I warn you that you '11 be shocked. If I can 
believe my senses, this letter virtually says that, 
correctly speaking, there is no trailing arbutus 
anywhere in America — think of that! — and that 
what is called the arbutus in England does n't trail 
at all, but stands up stark and stiff like the straw- 
berry-tree that it sometimes is, and 

Bless me ! The little chicks have flown, and 
only my big boys and girls are listening ! I thought 
it would be so. Now for the letter: 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit ; Vour department in our dear St. 
Nicholas always interests me so mucli that I want to add a word to 
your talk about arbutus, in the .^pril number. Some years ago, 
Mrs. Ednah D. Cheney, in speaking of our dainty flower, said she 
objected very much to tbe name arbutus as wholly incorrect, and, led 
by her remarks to make some little research into the matter, I found 

we had ni> plant known botanically as arbutus. Prof. Asa Gray, 
with whom I afterward spoke on the subject, was at a loss to account 
for the origin of the name here, and, like Mrs. Cheney, he deplored the 
use of /<9a;/ rather than botanical names, as being most misleading; 
the true name, Epigiea Repeiis, being the only one that he authorized. 

In regard to the quotations from Mrs. Browning and Cowper, any 
one familiar with the arbutus of England knows that it is not a creep- 
ing vine like ours, but a large shrub, indeed almost a tiee — everf^reen, 
with red berries, sometimes called there {but rarely, I think) the 
strawberry-tree, and frequently found in plantations and shrub- 
beries massed with laurel, holly, and other hardy .shrubs. Our " trail- 
ing spring-flower tinted like a shell " is unknown to our English 
cousins until they see it here, or known to them only in pictured form. 
As regards the pronunciation of the word, I quite agree as to rt; butus 
being correct, though this seems to me a consideration only second- 
ary to the fact that the name, as we ariply it, is a misnomer. 

M. R. A. 

Dear, dear ! Well, my poor American flower- 
lovers, all you can do when next May conies is 
to get down on ) our little knees, and, smothering 
your grief, search tenderly for the Epigaa Repais 
and ask its scientific pardon for ever having called 
it arbutus. 

By the way, the prize-boy of the Red School- 
house requests me to state right here that this 
rather high-sounding name for the pretty little 
arbutus gives him a good idea of the plant, which 
he happens never to have seen. He says the word 
Rcpcns (which is Latin) tells him that the plant 
we have called arbutus is a sort of creeper, and 
Epiga-a (which is Greek) shows him that it creeps 
close to the ground. 

So, you see, there are two sides to the question. 
Greek and Latin are more friendly to the flowers 
than, at first thought, one would suppose possible. 

Think the matter over. 


Here is a letter from a little boy at the seaside, 
who uses his eyes to good advantage in observing 
a living mite which he calls "A small -worrier." 
He may mean to say warrior, but either worrier or 
warrior is a good name for the lively and pugnacious 
fellow the little boy describes : 

I WONDER, dear Jack, how many of your little friends have seen 
this kind of insect : It is of a brownish tint, and has six small legs, 
somewhat resembling a spider's. These little worriers are lound on 
the sand, sometimes in small passages, which apparently they have 
made. If you should happen to offend one of these small creatures 
in an\ way, he would probably take up in his little arms such a 
fearful thing as a grain of sand, and throw it at you. I hope that 
no one would hurt such a brave, harmless, and interesting mite. 

I remain, your little iriend, E. P. McE. 


Not many of you, my children, will care to write 
vour letters on ice, even during the summer months. 
But I was rather struck with the novel idea, when 
a boy of the Red School-house told the dear Little 
School-ma'am a bit of news that lately had come to 
this country from Austria. It appears that Francis 
Joseph, the Emperor of Austria, has a country-seat 
near Vienna, and on this fine royal estate is a lake 
which in winter is used as a skating pond. Well, 
during one of the latest Austrian " cold snaps," an 
expert Vienna gentleman went skating there, with 
a little reservoir of ink adjusted to the back of his 
skate in such a way as to allow the ink to flow out 
in a fine, steady stream. Then off he started, and 



before he had skated long, there appeared in his 
rapid track the name of the Crown Princess, beau- 
tifully and plainly written upon the ice. 

Was n't this a pretty compliment to set before 
the king ? 

The example of the expert Austrian may not 
be easy for you to follow just now, my melting 
little Americans — for ice is somewhat scarce in 
your part of the world, and crown princesses espe- 
cially so. Yet the idea of writing upon ice will 
keep till next winter. 


I WONDER if any of you have ever witnessed a 
thunder-storm in the Alps ? My birds have told 
me of it. If you have ever seen Niagara, then 
just imagine it let loose all over the Alleghany 
mountains, and you have an idea of what a rain- 
storm in the Alps is. The summits of the mount- 
ains dash over with waterfalls, and the gorges 
roar with the sound of the water and of the thun- 
der. The foam is seen on every side. Presently 
limbs of trees begin to float by, and to get all 
tangled up. There is no use, however, in their 
trying to stop all that ocean of water and mist. 
The waves leap '* like mad" ; and if you are not 
on a good high and dry spot, you are greatly in 

All this is sometimes seen by birds and human 
folk, but I, for one, am glad I have not had the 
honor of seeing it. I like my Niagaras in their 
proper places, and in a very mild form. 

Now, one of the prettiest sights I know of is 
to see, on a sunny day, just after a shower, shin- 
ing little streams running down from tall bent 
grasses, and resting themselves in the clover leaves 


St. Louis, Mo. 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : In answer to your question, in a 
recent number of St. Nich<jlas, as to liow long the day-fly and 
elephant live, the elephant lives 400 years. As for the day-fly, I 
looked the little fellow up in Worcester's dictionary. W. says : "A 
neuropterous insect of the genus Ephemera^ which, after the change 
into a perfect fly, survives but a few hours." 

Here are some statistics for your congregation : " An elephant 
lives 400 years ; a whale, 300; a tortoise. 100; a cstmel, 40 ; a horse, 
25 ; a bear, 20; a lion, 20 ; an ox, 25 ; a cat, 15 ; a sheep, 10; a squir- 
rel, 8 ; a guinea-pig, 7." 

The crow, ea^le, raven, and swan live one hundred years. 

Your interested reader, J. J. C, Jr. 

Surely, my animals have reason to be grateful to 
J. J. C, Jr. He certainly gives them promise of 
long lives, according to their kind. Whether Provi- 
dence expects them to live exactly up to these 
figures or not, it is to be hoped that human folk 
will respect possibilities, and not wantonly cut 
short the life of any animal, — the mosquito, of 
course, excepted. 

Yes, mosquitoes plainly were born to be killed — 
and if you '11 watch one long enough, when he 
alights upon you, humming cheerily, you '11 see him 
settle down deliberately and sign and seal his own 
death-warrant. Then, and not till then, you must 
be his calm executioner. 

Alas, if human beings had less feeling the mos- 
quito, too, might live his hundred years ! 


I WONDER, dear Jack, writes a friend of St. 
Nicholas, if any of your young folk can tell how 
"calico" came by its name? Lest they may not 
be able to do so, I will say that it is derived from 
Calicut, a city of India, from which it was first 
taken to England, in 163 1, by the East India Com- 
pany. Cambric, you may tell them, comes from 
Cambria. Gingham is derived from Guingamp, 
in Brittany, and muslin from Mosul, a city in 
Asiatic Turkey. Tulle is named from a city in 
France. Poplin was first manufactured in a 
Papal territory, and hence was called Papaline — 
afterward changed into "poplin." Worsted was 
first spun in 1630, at Worsted, a town in Norfolk, 
England, where the industry is carried on to this 
very day. Gauze is from Gaza, in Palestine, where 
it was first made. 

Perhaps some of the young folk can add a few 
interesting items to this list. 


Some of you may think that the Fourth of July 
is not generally observed in the fairies' country, 
and others among you may feel quite sure that 
every day is Independence Day to the tiny people. 
Be this as it may, certain poets, who know all 
about fairy folk, have found out just how their 
"Fourth" is celebrated, as you '11 see by these 
verses, written for you, and sent to my " Pulpit" 
by airy fairy Lilian Dynevor Rice. 

The wee mid-summer fairies who dwell in wood and meadow. 

Although they be but tiny folk are patriotic too ; 
So when they heard the children say the "glorious Fourth" was 

They met in solemn conference to see what they could do. 

But fireworks and powder, torpedoes, rockets, crackers. 
Are not for sale in fairyland, as you perhaps might dream ; 

At first the case seemed hopeless, but, after weighty thinking. 
Like clever elve- Americans they hit upon a scheme. 

First, beneath the branches they unfurled a splendid banner, 
Whose stripes were crimson salvia with daisies laid between, 

Forget-me-nots and blue-bells made all one corner azure, 
With stars of golden buttercups, the largest ever seen. 

For crackers and torpedoes they snapped the empty seed pods. 
While puff-balls did their liitle best to smoke with all their might, 

And the elfin /t'/f was ended with shooting stars for rockets. 
While Roman-candle fireflies lit all the summer night. 


The Little School-ma'am asked her children 
lately if any of them could give her a common 
English word which is defined as "confined or re- 
strained," dnd also as "going, or ready to go," 
and " to spring, or to leap." 

Then, before they could repls, she told them 

that she held in her hand something that w as 

(tJiis ivord) vQYy neatly and tastefully; "and in 
it." she added: " I notice that a boy remarked: 
' I am (fhis word) to go swimming to-day.'" 

Whereupon Bessie Scott, one of the scholars, 
said with a laugh: "And I can— — (this word) 
any State in the Union." 

Let me hear from you concerning dris word. 


By a. V. R. EASTLAK.E. 

The lullaby song that Japanese 
mothers sing to their baby boys 
and girls is very pretty, and it 
makes me feel almost drowsy to 
think of it. Little children in Japan 
are very good and very easily 
amused. When bedtime comes they lie on tufted 
silken covers on the soft matting floor, and the 
good mother sits beside them and pats softly with 
her hand and sings : 


Ne - ne wo - slii ! Bo 

ii ko da, 

Ne - ne slii - na ! Nen - ne no omo 

do - ko ye it - ta? Ano ya 



sato ye it 


Ne-ne woshi ! Boya wa ii ko da, 
Ne-ne shi-na ! 

Nenne no omori doko ye itta ? 
Ano yarna koete o-sato ye itta. 
O-sato no o-miyage nani moratta? 
Denden, taiko, ni sho no fuye, 
Oki-agari-koboshi,* ni inu hariko, 
Boya wa ii ko da, 
Ne-ne shi-na I " 

And this little song means, in our language, 

Hush-a-bye, bye ! 

Darling baby is so good, 

Hush-a-bye, bye I 
Where is nursie gone, where did she go ? 
Over mountains far away to the town, I know. 

What buys she for baby dear, in the village store ? 
Cymbals, drums, flutes, and oh I plenty, plenty more. 
Paper doggies, pretty toys, every thing for baby. 

Darling baby is so good, 

Hush-a-bye, bye ! 

The babies in Japan have sparkling eyes and 
funny little tufts of hair ; they look so quaint and 
old-fashioned, exactly like those doll-babies that 
are sent over here to America. Now, in our coun- 
try very young babies are apt to put everything in 
their mouths ; a button or a pin, or anything, goes 
straight to the little rosy wide-open mouth, and 
the nurse or mamma must always watch and take 
great care that baby does not swallow something 
dangerous.. But in Japan they put the small babies 
right down in the sand by the door of the house, 
or on the floor, but I never saw them attempt to 
put anything in their mouths unless they were told 
to do so, and no one seemed to be anxious about 
them. When little boys or girls in Japan are 
naughty and disobedient, they must be punished, 
of course ; but the punishment is very strange. 
There are very small pieces of rice-paper called 
nioxa, and these are lighted with a match, and 
then put upon the finger or hand or arm of the 
naughty child, and 
they burn a spot on 
the tender skin that 
hurts very, very 
much. The child 
screams with the 
pain, and the red- 
hot moxa sticks to 
the skin for a mo- 
ment or two, and 
then goes out; but 
the smarting burn 

reminds the little child of his fault. I do not like 
these moxas. 1 think it is a cruel punishment. 
But perhaps it is better than a whipping. Only 
I wish little children never had to be punished. 

* The words " oki-agari-koboshi " refer to a toy very popular among small children in China and Japan. In China it is called " pan- 
puh-tao," the thing that may be "banged but not overturned " ; and a common name for it in Japan is Daruma San, or " Mr. Daruma." 

The toy is a strong pasteboard figure of an old man in a squatting position, and is so rounded and weighted at the bottom that it will 
always bob up in a sitting posture, no matter how often one may knock it over. It is said to represent an old Buddhist saint named 
Daruma, who came from India to China in the sixth century, and sat gazing at a wall for nine years, as, like many other Buddhists, he 
thought he could attain to supreme happiness by that kind of *' fi.xed contemplation." The name in the song means "the little law- 
doctor" (koboshi) " who bobs up again " (oki-agari), after being knocked over. 


By Hexrv Moore. 

A SOLITARY sand-crab sidled from his cave, — 
His melancholy, dark, and secret lodging, — 

Scurried down the shingle to follow every wave, 
And then kept his feet dry by dodging. 

His funny little eyes seemed popping from his 

And his legs seemed all in a tangle, 

And whenever you thought he was going straight 

He would shoot right off at an angle. 

Now, would n't it be fun to know the funny little life 
Which he lives in his sandy home ; and maybe 

To have an introduction to his funny little wife, 
And see the little sand-crab baby. 


Contribl;tors are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be 
examined at the oftice of St. Nicholas. Consequently, those vho desire to favor the magazine with contributions 
wiW please postpone sending their MSS. un:ii after the last-named date. 

The Dogs of John Bikkolghs and Frank R. Siockton. 

In reply to a letter which we sent to Mr. Burroughs concerning 
his dog Laddie, he wrote : 

West 1'ark, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My dog Laddie was a cur — a mixture of 
black-and-tan and spaniel, the former predominating. He died, alas, 
in February — was killed by a big dog of my neighbor. When I 
came to where he lay, several hours after the big dog had had hold 
of him, he was motionless, but still alive. The wounds which 
covered his body had dried up in the sun. When I spoke to him 
he made no other sign, but all his wounds instantly began to bleed 
afresh ; it was like bloody tears trickling from all over his body. 1 
suppose my voice quickened his pulse. He died in a little while 
afterward. Very i^incerely yours, 

John Bl'rrolghs. 
^Iadison, N. J. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Inclosed is a rough sketch from memory 
of my dog " Fax," Those who had known the dug and who saw the 
sketch recognized the likeness. The sketch is as rough as the dog's 
disposition, but it will give an artist the necessary points from which 
to work. It must be remembered that the front half of the dog was 
setter, and the hind poiiitcr. His front legs were short : his hind 
legs very long. He was quick and animated, his ears being gener- 
ally cocked ready for mischief. I hope this little sketch may be of 
service. He was of a light color, with brown markings, and his long 
ears were very handsome. Yours very truly, 

Frank R. Stockton. 

Wf. thank Mr. Stockton very much for his spirited sketch of 
" Fax" which we have reproduced on page 677, just as it left his 
hand, — without the help of any other artist. 

The Story of The Little Six. 

The names and ages of the boys and girls constituting **The 
Little Six " were : 

Misses, Zoe Farrar, 12; Florence Howe, 11; Mary Barton, 11: 
and Masters, Reed White, n ; Bertie Ensworth, 9; and Lloyd 
Benson, 7, 

Programme of the Entertainment given' bv the Little 
People for the Benefit of thk Flood Sufferers. 

Comfilijnents of " The Little Six," 
at Opera Hall, for Saturday Evening, Februaiy j6. 

Part First. 

Greeting Glee The Little Six. 

" The Best I Can " Florence Howe. 

" The Puzzled Ceiisus-Ta/cer" Reed White. 

Over the Hill to the Poor-House" Zoe F.a.rkar. 

Dorothy Sullivan'" Mary Barton. 

" Tltree Wise Old Women " The Troupe. 

Part Second. 

" Ho7u Merry the Life of a Bird" Thf. Troupe, 

Song of the Bobolink" Reed White. 

" Katy Did " , . . . Bertie En.sworth. 

^^Jra7niette and Jea7i7iot" I ry. ^. 

A duet, followed by Tableau by ] ^ ^ ^owk. 

Pakt Third. 

Selections from " Mother Goose'* . The Little Six. 

Part Fourth. 

*' Art in the Rosewood Family"; 
A play in Three Acts. 

Head of the Household Reed White. 

Mater Familias Florence Howe. 

Ju.bel Roseiuood, artist of the house Zoe F.a.rrar. 

A 7igeliua Rosewood, beauty of the family Mary Barton. 

August Kosezuood, pride of the home Bertie Ensworth. 

Decatur Roseivood, his mother s hope Lloyd Bknson. 

Songs and Good NigJit By the Rosewood Family. 

Admission, 15 cents; reserved seats. 20 cents. The entire re- 
ceipts 10 be given to the sufferers by the fluod. The performance to 
begin at 7:30, sharp. ^5- Please bring this programme with you. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Owing to the suggestion in the March 
number of St. Nicholas, about pasting picture-cards, I have spent 
many happy hours during a long illness, and have nine large cards 
covered each side, and they are very pretty. I did not plan any 
comic ones, but made one a mass of pretty faces. I, too, shall send 
them to a hospital. 

Although I am a girl, I was very much interested in " Drill." 

I remain, your loving reader, 

Pauline I . 

New York. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you about my three little 
playmates — a baby boy, a baby dog, and a baby cat. The little 
boy's name is Harry, the kitten's name is Tigs, and the pup's name 
is Wigs, because his hair is so long over his eyes that it luuks like a 
curly wig. Wigs chases Tigs, Tigs chases Wigs, and Harry chases 
them all. Wigs sleeps in a basket. Tigs sleeps on a rug by the fiie, 
and Harry sleeps in a crib. Tigs keeps one eye open to see what 
Wigs is at, Wigs keeps one eye open to see what Tigs is at. but Hariy 
keeps both eyes tight shut, as a baby should. 

One day, Harry was sick and could not play. Tigs jumped into 
the crib on one side, Wigs jumped in at the other, and soon all three 
were fast asleep. By and by mother came into the room. Harry 
woke up, and said he felt better. When the doctor came, he said that 
the cuddling of Wigs and Tigs had made him quite well, so ever 
after they were called Dr. Wigs and Dr. Tigs. 

Clara H . 


Dear Sr. Nicholas: Your account of the "Girls' Military 
Company " in the January number made me think it might interest 
s(»me of your readers to hear about a gymnasium for girls and young 
ladies, which we have here. 

There are about forty members, and we meet twice a week at a 
dancing-hall- Our costumes are a little like those described in the 
"Girls' Mllitar>' Company." but we don't wear hats, and our 
dresses extend only a little below the knee. We have dumb-bell, 
wand, and percussion exercises, and a very pretty march. Any girl 
above fourteen years of age may join. 

With love and best wishes, from A Gymnast, 

Houston, Texas. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have been a sub.scriber to your magazine 
for over a year, and think there is no other to equal it. 

As I have never seen a letter from Houston, I thought I would 
write one, and tell you something about our city. 

It is in the southern part of the Lone Star State. It is situated 
on the banks of Buffalo Bayou. Visitors who come here laugh at 
such an insignificant stream, but we feel quite proud of it, as it is 
the only water near us. In the spring it is really quite pretty ; with 
its stately magnolias and graceful willow-trees, the scenery is quite 

Houston has between 35,000 and 40,000 inhabitants, and is rapidly 
growing. We have the finest union depot, and one of the finest 
hotels in the South ; also a handsome market-house, court-house, 
and cotton exchange. 

Our city is named after General Sam Houston, the leader in our 




war with Mexico. The battle of San Jacinto, which gave us our 
independence, was fought only a few miles from here. The 21st of 
April, the anniversary of that battle, is always a State holiday. I 
hope my letter is not too long to be published, as I would love to see 
it in print. 

Your constant reader, Mary Kate H . 

Fort Supply, I. T. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little army girl, and as I have 
never seen a letter from here, I thought I would tell you about the 
Indian camp which we went to see. We saw the Indian tcpccs and 
all the Indian children; and the mothers carry their babies on their 
backs ; and one baby, twu months old, was born with a tooth. I 
tried to hang a bottle on a table, as described in St. Nicholas, and 
succeeded. I fear my letter will be too long to print. 

I am, your faithful reader, Jennie A . 

Baltimore, Md. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have just celebrated my tenth birthday, 
and you can imagine my joy and surprise at receiving a year's sub- 
scription to the dear Si. Nicholas. Five copies lay on the table 
waiting for me, and I eagerly read "Sara Crewe," and thoroughly 
enjoyed it. 

Besides the St. Nicholas, I received two of Miss Alcott's works 
and one of Miss Muloch's. 

Good-bye, with best wishes from your interested reader, 

Elsa R. S . 

Cairo, Egypt. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I don't often see letters in the "Letter- 
box " from Egypt, so I thought I would write. 

Cairo is very warm at present, and the smells! — they are fearful, 
in the little narrow streets. I wish I could give some idea of the 
bazars. They are little, narrow alleys, where no carriage can pass ; 
the bazars have no doors^, and are open to the street ; most of the 
goods for sale are outside on a stand, while the men sit inside, cross- 
legged; such lovely table-covers in bright colors may be bought, 
or sofa-cushions embroidered in gold, doylcys, curtains, etc. One 
wishes to buy them all ; but one reason why I hate to go to the 
bazars is, that if you have made a purchase, no matter how long 
before, the man always remembers you, and tears out after you, say- 
ing, You buy of other people, why you not buy of me? " If they 
ask four pounds, offer them two; after a great deal of wrangling 
they generally give in ; they expect only half what they ask. 

The donkeys are so cute ; but they beat them so that the donkey 
generally has some raw, red spot, where his man is especially fond 
of jabbing him with the end of the stick. There is a delicious candy 
made here, like marsh-mallow, called Turkish delight. 

The other day 1 went to an Arab wedding, in a private house ; 
the rooms were beautiful ; the bride's bed was hung with white 
goods and orange blossoms; the spread, satin worked in gold ; the 
bridegroom was a widower ; the bride was about fifteen, and looked 
very frightened; she had a train in front as well as behind, which 
was held up for her when she ascended her throne ; she wore ostrich 
feathers in her hair, and in front of them a great many diamond pins. 
All the ladies (no men were present) were turned out of the room 
then, and, after waiting a while, along came the bridegroom with a 
group of friends; money was scattered on the ground (more candy 
than money) for his slaves. He then went upstairs to meet the 
bride ; poor man, he had never seen her before — just think of it. 

Very few women show their faces in the street ; they show only 
their eyes ; they carry the children on their shoulders. The other 
day I saw a woman with a flat basket balanced on her head, and in 
it sat a small baby, looking around in an easy way, holding to each 
side with her little hands. The children's eyes are always covered 
with flies; the people are too superstitious to brush them off, and 
they get right in their eyes and stay there; almost all have trouble 
with their eyes. The better class of women ride in coupes, the 
windows pulled down so they can just see out, and no one can see 
in very well. They wear white lace over their noses and mouths, 
very thin, so you can see the features ; one or two men in gay 
clothes run before, dressed in cloth worked in gold or silver ; their legs 
are bare, they carry handsome, slender sticks, and call out to clear 
the way for the coming carriage. Some of the English or Americans 
also have these men to run before their traps ; it looks very pretty 
and oriental, but the men do not live long, as they die of heart- 
disease, the running is so hard. 

When I spoke of the wedding, I meant one of the best class, of 
which very little is seen in Cairo. You have to smoke the cigarettes 
they pass you, or else they feel insulted. Lot'iSE C . 

London, England. 
Dear St. Nicholas : T am a little yellow dog, with no tail and 
no ears. My name is Toto, and my little mistress (of whom I am 
very fond) is Rosine. Rosine has a cat, and this cat has just had 
some kittens, and I like them very much. When I saw the cat carry 
them, I thought I would like to try and see if /could. I could not carry 

them very well at first, but now I can carry them very much better 
than their mother. I like going out very much, and when Rosine 
goes out and leaves me, I feel very miserable. Though I like going 
out so, I do not like going with any one but Rosine and her mother 
and father, and sometimes people try to force me, but I will not go. 
I am a little French dog, and can understand only a little English. 
I sincerely hope this is not too long to put in the " Letter-box." 

Your little dog-friend, Toto. 

Salt I-ake City. 
Dear St. Nicholas: As we have never seen any letter from Salt 
Lake we thought that we would like to see one in your "Letter- 
box." We read your story, " How the Hart Boys Saw Great Salt 
Lake," and thought it a very true description of that day, as we 
were present. 

We have two bathing resorts, Garfield, which is run by the^Mor- 
mons, and Lake Park, which is run by our people. The bathing is 
said to be the best in the world. 

We enjoy your magazine very much. 

We attend Rowland Hall, a very nice school, for girls only. 

Good-bje, Maud and Marie. 

Floyd, Io\va. 

Dear St. Nicholas : My uncle gave you to me for a Christmas 
present, and I enjoy you very much. 

I am staying with my grandma and grandpa, four miles from Floyd. 

At my home, I have a very pretty canary. His name is " Bobby 
Shafto," but I call him " Bob" for short. He is all yellow, and is a 
beautiful singer. He had a dark ring around his neck, but it is 
all gone now. He is very tame, and will eat from my lips. His 
cage door is open all the time, and he perches on our heads, and 
sometimes comes down to breakfast. He is very jealous of my three- 
year-old sister, Bessie. 

I made the paper ball, and intend to make some of colored paper, 
to hang up. 

With best wishes, your little friend, Dora W . 

Rogers Park, III. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I wrote to you once before, but as my 
letter was not printed I thought I would write again. Every month, 
as soon as you come, I go up to the drug-store to get you. When I 
dime back I sit down and read you. I am reading the story, " Drill : 
A Story of School-boy Life," and I like it very much. 

I should think the General would have been mad when the boys 
broke the broomsticks on their knees. I belong to a company 
myself, and the captain made all the guns himself I am only eight 
years old, so excuse all mistakes. 

Good-bye, Edward S. C . 

Washington, D. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I write this letter to you, to describe a trip 
I made to the top of the dome of the Capitol, here in Washington. 
Outside of the dome, a person looking at it would say its height was 
about two hundred feet, while in reality it is over three hundred feet. 
I counted the steps on my way up, and found the number of them to 
be just three hundred and fifteen. Each step is about one foot in 
height, so that the dome is over three hundred feet in height. The 
flight of stairs is very tortuous; it winds around and around. The 
moment a person steps out upon the little circular piazza at the top, 
he is struck with the grand panorama that lies spread out before him, 
like a feast of good things, upon which he can feast his eyes. From 
the Capitol as a center, the beholder sees the broad avenues and 
streets radiating to all points of the compass. The White House looks 
like a doll-house, the Treasury building like a small piece of mnrble, 
and the new pension-office building (made of brick) looks like a 
pressed brick lying on the ground. People look like flies. In the 
background of the beautiful picture lies the placid Potomac, backed 
up by the Virginia hills. 

There is much more I might describe, but I fear I have weaned 
my readers (if I have any) already. I write this letter with a feeling 
of misgiving, for two reasons, viz. : First, because the subject is such 
a "chestnut," and second, because I write so badly. 

A constant reader, John C . 

Const antinoplf. 

Dear St. Nicholas; You must not think because I live in Con- 
stantinople that T am a Turk. I am an American. 

This is my first letter to you. This is the first year T have taken 
you, and I enjoy you very much. One of my favorite stories is 
" How the Yankees Came to Blackwood." *' Little Lord Fauntle- 
roy," of whom so many of the letters speak, came before I took you, 
but I have a bound volume of it. So I know how much they must 
have enjoyed it. I was looking at it to-day. My letter is growing 
long, and I must stop. I am ten years old, and my name is 

Harry H. B . 




Dear St. Nicholas : We are two friends, who both think you 
a delightful magazine, and have taken you for two years. Yonkers 
is a very pretty little city on the Hudson, and being built upon 
many terraces, is sometimes called the Terrace City. 

One of us has a goat named Pepper, and a little wagon in which we 
drive very often. The late blizzard left a great many large drifts, 
some being ten or twelve feet high. 1'he trains were blocked for 
three or four days, and no mails could be delivered. The grass is 
now growing green, and the trees beginning to bud, of which we are 
very glad, as they show the signs ot icturning spring. 

Within the last few weeks, the new railroad connecting with the 
elevated road in New York has been completed. 

We both enjoyed the stories of " Little Lord Fauntleroy," '* Juan 
and Juariita," and think all others delightful. With best wishes for 
St. Nicholas, we both remain, 

Your interested readers, Madge D. and Apol E — 

Nevvi'ORT, R. L 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for a long time, and 1 
like you more and more all the time. My precious Papa has gone 
away to sea, and I have not seen him for nearly two years, but all this 
time I have sent yon to him. I paint a picture for him and mark 
the story I like best. So you have been all around the world with 
him, and now you are going to Africa, for Papa's ship is ordered 
there. I wish I could go with you, because I want to see Papa so 

Now I will tell you about the pets on Papa's ship. The sailors 
have a monkey, two pigeons, a Madagascar cat named Tommy, a 
beautiful black catcalled Tom, a little cinnamon monkey called Jock, 
two puppies called Rah and Per. Every evening they go where the 
officers smoke and have a regular play. The little dogs try to catch 
Tommy, but he is too quick for the tat little balls; he jumps over 
their backs and pulls their tails. I have not time to tell you half the 
lovely things Papa writes me, ab')ut his ship and the pets. 

I want to ask you to please print this letter, because I want my 
Papa to see it in the St. Nicholas as a great surprise. Papa gives 
you to the sailors, to read. 

I think "Juan and Juanita *' and "Lord Fauntleroy" the dest 
stories 1 ever read. 

I have only one brother and one sister. Papa is my big brother, 
and Mamma is my small sister. 

I am going to take you as long as you live. I am seven years old. 

Your loving little friend, Laura K . 

P. S. — My best doll is named Queen Victoria. 

Peoria, III. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for six months. Among 
my favorite stories are *' Edward Athoy," " Trudel's Siege," and 
"Three Miles High in a Balloon." I suppose I like the latter so 
much because I saw a man jump from a balloon, with the aid of a 
parachute, at a height of between one and two thousand feet. He 
landed unhurt, but he tore his parachute a little. His balloon was 
about seventy-five feet high and hfty feet in circumference. I am 
thirteen years old. 1 like you very much. 

Your interested reader, J. B. S 

Wichita, Kansas. 
My Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for nearly six years, 
and I think you are the best magazine ever published. I liked 
"Sara Crewe" very much, and I like all of Miss Alcott's stories, I 
live in a lively Western city, where the people do nothing but talk 
real estate and pore over new-addition plats. 1 go to the Garfield 
University, but board at home. It is so different from any school I 
ever went to. I am tweh e years old, and never wrote to you before. 

Your untiring reader, Pllma K . 

We have received interesting letters from the young correspond- 
ents whose names are printed below: 

** Dollie," Arthur E. F., A. Burr, Helen B., Daisy Seiler, F. and 
J., Alice Jenckes, Stanley A. Beadle, Agnes, Joe, and Elinor, M. 
ftL, Ethel Gould, Bessie Bower, Helen W. H., Janet H. Stewart, 
Minnie P. R., Grace E. Hulse, Sadie Crane, L. Judith Montague, 
Miriam Holz Ware, Belle Adams and Edie Bowers, Birdie Netter, 
Alice L. Fairvveather, Bertha, B. and L., Rachel C. Gwyn, D. F., 
M. M., Louis A., James H. Cayford, Mabelle L. V. M., Harry 
Closson, Eddie Simmons. Elsie C. B., D. P., Callie V. Mason, Olive 
May Perry, Ethel R. Tebault, Beulah B. Whitcomb, Myla Jo Clos- 
ser, Mamie A. Case, Sadie Nichols, IVLirion F. Nichols, Helen 
Hunt, Harriet M. Burnett, P^dwin M., Willie C. Megarge, K. Young, 
IVLamie L. Wilson, Alma Belle Connell, S. S., Winifred Davis, Elea- 
nor M. B., Charles E. Wilson, Louise M., Susanna G-, Irma Cop- 
page, Martha C. and Eleanor H., Carlotta C. Read, Hester Coch- 
rane, Edith H. Gage, Mary Bell Street, D. O., and D. F. 



Absent Vowels. The Month of Roses, i. A drowning man 
will catch at a straw. 2. The other party is always at fault. 3. A 
great city is a great solitude. 4. Hit}>iaii blood is all of one color. 
5. He that converses not, kii07vs nothing. 6. Honey in the month 
saves the purse, 7. /f^f2/£'>- run by, will not turn the mill. 8. Drink 
is the usher of death. 9. The proof of the pudding is in the eating. 
10. Give that which you offer. 11. Good uuords cost nothing, but 
are worth much. 12. Fancy may bolt bran and think it Jioiir. 13. 
A kind word costs no more than a cross one. 14. Long is the arm 
of the needy. 15. More haste, less speed. 

WoKD-sQU'ARE. I. Pagan. 2. Agave. 3. Games. 4. Avert. 
5. Nests. 

Double Central Acrostic. Dandelion, misdetoe Cross- 
words: I. maDMan. 2. plAlce. 3. coNSul. 4. reDTop. 5, 
whELks. 6. taLEnt. 7. golTre. 8. stOOps. g. siNEwy. 

Ch.arade. Cast-a-net. 

Easy Beheadings. Boone, i. B-ear. 2. 0-pen. 3. O-men. 
4. N-ice. 5. E-den. 

Illustrated Central Acrostic. Cleopatra, i. danCers. 2. 
vioLets. 3 pigEons. 4. corOnet. 5. slil'per. 6. pyr.^mid. 7. 
hunTers. 8. actRess. 9. cavAlry. 


Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much : 
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 

Double Acrostic. Cross-words : i. AlhambrA. 2. LadlefuL. 
3. HiccougH. 4. AlhambrA. 5. MainbooM. 6. Ball-cluB. 7. 
RecordeR. 8. AlhambrA. 

Hexagons. I. i. Atad. 2. Tacit. 3. Acacia. 4. Dickens. 5. 
Tierce. 6. Ancle. 7. Seer. II. 1. Stem. 2. Togas. 3. Egeria. 
4. Marengo. 5. Singer. 6. Agent. 7. Orts. III. i. Flam. 2. 
Laban. 3. Abodes. 4. Madisun. 5. Nestle. 6. Soles. 7. Nest. 
A Peculiar Pi. 

Hear the skylark in the cloud. 

Hear the cricket in the grass. 
Trilling blithene;iS clear and loud, 

Chirping glee to all who pass. 
Oh, the merry summer lay ! 
Earth and sky keep holiday. 

Hear the leaves that kiss the air. 
Hear the laughter of the bees : 
Who remembers winter care 

In the shining days like these? 
Oh, the merry lay of June ! 
All our hearts are glad in tune. 

Mrs. A itgzista Da7<ics Webster. 
A Letter Puzzle. Begin at C in cap; '* Coronation of Queen 

Victoria." Cross-word Enigma. Vernet. 

Easy Cubes. I. From i to 2, carpet: 2 to 4, teapot: i to 3, 
chased; 3 to 4, direct; 5 to G, yeasts; 6 to 8, serves; 5 to 7, yonder; 
7 to 8, roasts ; i to 5, cloy ; 2 to 6, tars ; 4 to 8, tubs ; 3 to 7, deer. 
II. From I to 2, cables: 2 to 4, stamps; i to 3, closet; 3 to 4, 
tramps : 5 to 6, season ; 6 to 8, neatly : 5 to 7, shadow ; 7 to 8, 
wintry ; 1 to 5, cabs ; 2 to 0, sign ; 4 to 8, slay : 3 to 7, trow. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not lalerthan the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in thk April Number were received, before April 15th, from Maud E. Palmer — A. Fiske and 
Co. — " Latin School Cadet " — Grace Kupfer — " Socrates " — " Solomon Quill " — Russell Davis — " Infantry " — Nellie and Reggie — 
" Willoughby "— K. G. S. — H. A. R. — Walter T. Murdock — F. W. Islip. 

Answers to Puzzles in the April Number were received, before April 15th, from Louise McClellan, 15— M. Snowdrop, S., 
2 — " Romeo and luliet," i — R. Weeks, i — E. K. Dunton, i — F. H. T., 2 — Genevieve, 2 — E. B. Post, i — M. P. Earle, i — Minnie, 
I — Willie. 1 — W. L. Diller, i — F. Slettaner, i — Alma F. Durant, 3 — W. P., 2 — Harlan H. B., i — A. Lowell, i— M. K. E., i — 
Florence D. and Grace W., i — " Elfie," i — George B. M., 2 — Marie D. Grier, 2 — Harry H. M., 2 — Arthur Bredt. 2 — I. G. Bitely, 
I — "A. Omega," 7 — M. C. and E. M., i — W. Lieber, i — B. Ball, i — " Little Betsey," i — Ella S. Wilkins, 2 — Jessie, i — E. P. 
Babcock. i — A. C. Bowles, t — K. Anger, i — .Millie Day, 3 — Willie Volckhausen, S — it. R. Porter, i — " Sigma and Beta," 2 — Alice 
Faran Wann, 5 — L. P. Coleman, i — No name, Phila. ,4 — E. Armer and A. Morris, i — C. D. C. , 2 — Louis A., i — C. and K. Camp- 
bell, I — Anna Kalteubach, s — M. Cleary, i — Paul Reese, 12 — E. F. McC. and A. O., 5 — Louise Armington, 10 — L. M. Butler, 1 — 
" Juan and Juanita," r — F. Sybil M., 2 — M. C. and H. C, i — Nell R., 7 — Douglas, Myrle and Marigold, 4 — " Methusaleh," 4 — 
H C. Gushing, i — Harry Clo^son, 2 — H. F. Worden, i — A. Burr, r — M. M., i — S. F., 2 — Belle Burton, 12 — "Toots," 6 — 
" Skipper," 7 — " Patty Pan and Kettledrum." 4 — " Sally Lunn," 12 — " Sailor," 4 — N. H. Mundy, 1 — " May and 79," it — Ida Allen, 
I — Geo. R. Dunham, 2 — "Elsie Venner," i — K. A. Squires, 3 — Emma, i — M. (»reen, i — R. D. Humphrey, 2 — Edith Wood- 
ward, 3 — J. R. Flemming, 2 — Effie K. Talboys, 7 — James A. Harris, 3 — ShuUsburg Third (irade, 13 — Ellie and Susie, 6 — J. C. F., 
I — Rosa and Jesse Mayer, 3 — A. H. and R., " Alpha, Alpha, B. C," 6 — V. P. Conklin, 5 — Robert .Tnd Ruth, 13 — " G. and 

Potpourri," I — Rose, 4 — Edwin Fullam, i — Jennie S. Liebmann. 8 — "Twin Elephants," 5 — " Pussy Willow," 7 — " (Jrandma," 
4 — No name, 9 — C. and K. Campbell, i — "Miss Flint," 13 — " Betsy Prigg," 8 — C. C. Norris, 2 — Runyon, 11 — " Lehte," 14 — 
" Donna D.," 3 — Henry and Harry, t — E Clark, 2 — Jo and I, 12 — " Laughing Water," i — Mamma and Marion, 4 — Kafran Emera- 
wit, 13 — Alpha Zate, 7 — E. J. H. and R. H., 14 — W. S. and A. E. Turpin, 3 — "Damon and Pythias," 2 — Nellie L. Howes, 13 — 
M. E. R. C, 13 — " Hypatia," i — " Eureka," 7 — L. S., i — E. M. S., 8 — M. Osbourn. 


Each of the words described contains the same number of letters. 
When the>,e have been righdy guessed, and placed one below the 
other, the zigzags (beginning at the upper left-hand corner! will 
spell a famous event which took place on July 21, nearly thirty 
years ago. 

Cross-words : i. An obstruction. 2. Much used nowadays. 
3. A wager. 4. The goddess of revenge. 5. To .saunter. 6. A 
retreat. 7. The fifth sign of the zodiac. 8. Frequent. 9. To 
request. 10. To place. 11. Forty-five inches. 12. A quadruoed 
with palmate horns. 13. A covering for a floor, 14. To drone, 
jj. Part of a fish. kitty M. M. 


I AM composed of fifty-six letters, and form a sentence from a 
famous eulogy. 

My 4^-31-16-2 are all the same vowel. My 8-56-6-51-22 is a 
color. My 34-49-^4 is the sound made by a cannon-ball passing 
swiftly through the air. My 43-39-20-53 is a fight. My 47-48-24- 
26-19-25-37-13-9-15-55 is an ally. My 18-27-35-52^21-37 is the 

surname of a President of the United States. My 40-3-19-50-33- 
42-56 was the scene of a battle December 26, 1777. My 14-30-23- 
32-5-48-7 IS the name of the Secretary of War during Lincoln's 
administraiion My 11-42-28-=, 1-12-41-44-35-10 is the name of a 
place near Wilmington that was captured on Jan. 15, 1865. My 
54-38-17-9-46-4-20-29 is the name by which the first battle of Bull 
Run is sometimes called. 


Frits, Alpri, hes thiw lomwel bowsers 
Spone eth wya rof rayle slowref : 
Hent trafe erh mesco limnsig Mya, 
Ni a rome chir dan weste rayra; 
Texn sentre Jeun, dan gribns su remo 
Gesm hant hoste wot hatt twen reefbo : 
Hent, stally. Juyl scemo, dan seh 
Remo thelaw grinsb ni nath lal shote there. 


Th,t l,..d b.,c,m,s Ught th,.t ,,s ch,,,.rf,.lly b.,m,,. L. L. H. 





1. Ancient. 2. Long beams. 3. To act. 4, The flat jutting 
part of a cornice. 5. That which drains. 6. A horse. 7. To 
wander. " eureka." 


the Netherlands, taken, in 1573, after a seven months' siege, by the 
Duke of Alva. 4. A resort for blockade-rtmners during the civil 
war. 5. The British commander who gained the victory called by 
the Enghsh the "Battle of the First of June." 6. A naval officer 
of the highest rank. 7. One of the thirteen original States, 8. The 
successful commander at Culloden. 9. A famous Seminole Indian. 
ID. An eminent English statesman, sometimes called "The Great 
Commoner." 11. The State whose motto is " Ad astra per aspera." 


Across: 1. An exclamation (two letters), 2. A conference be- 
tween two persons {eight letters). 3. What a prisoner has to look 
out through {two words). 4. To assemble. 5. Old age. 6. Inter- 
vals of time. 7. The last eight-ninths of a word meaning palatable. 

The two central rows, reading downward, will spell the names of 
two modern American authors. louise mcclellan. 


To solve this charade one must go by the sound; 
Who follows the spellmg will soon be aground! 

My _^rsf has the face to serve as disguise 

To hide vciy first-second from curious eyes; 

But third of the Jirst he surely will need 

In joining the Jii'st, fourth and third, to succeed, 

For — unless I do fourth — with no firsts though a quest 

~For first second third \\c *s not fittingly dressed. 

T^o first \o\x\ the second, to these add the third. 

Then finish with fourth, and you have the whole word. 

But, if its full meaning be well weighed and reckoned 

You '11 find it no more than simply first second ! 

And a word-sparing poet, if worst comes to worst. 

Can express the whole word by using my first. 


Each of the words described contains the same number of letters. 
When these have been rightly guessed and placed one below the 
other, the central letters will spell the name of a famous Florentine 

Ckoss-words : 1. Wants. 2. Trail. 3. Towed. 4. Full of 
life and mirth. 5. A color. 6. A certain forest, familiar to readers 
of Shakspere's plays. 7. Peevish. 8. A boy's name. 9. Derides. 
10. A navy or squadron of ships. " odd pish." 


T. Upper Left-hand Diamond: i. In browsed. 2. A verb. 
3. A stigma. 4. Conclusion. 5. In browsed. 

II. Upi'er Right-hand Di.-\mond: i. In browsed. 2. A cap- 
sule of a plant. 3. The narrow sea-channel between England and 
France. 4. A retreat. 5. In browsed. 

III. Central Diamond: i. In browsed. 2. A verb. 3. A 
web-footed bird. 4. A cave. 5. In browsed. 

IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond ; i. In browsed. 2. A color. 
3. To preclude. 4. A small lump. 5. In browsed. 

V. Lower Right-hand Diamond ; r. In browsed. 2. At once. 
3- Impelled along the surface of water. 4. To marry. 5. In 
browsed. " chanito." 


Mv primals and finals each spell the name of a signer of the 
Declaration of Independence. 

Cross-words (of unequal length); i. The Christian name of a 
President of the United States, elected within the past twelve years. 
2. A town of Spain near which the Spaniards were defeated by the 
French, commanded by Mortier and Soult, in 1809. 3. A city of 

This differs from the ordinary numerical enigma, in that the 
words forming it are pictured instead of described. The quotation, 
consisting of fifty-seven words, is taken from the Declaration of 


I 3 

. 4 . . . 2 . 

Cross-words: i. Long loose overcoats. 2. Is urgent. 3. A 
smirk. 4. A territory of the United States, sometimes called the 

Golden Summit." 5. To elect again. 6. Bodies of land. 

The diagonals from i to 2 and from 3 to 4 spell a famous con- 
federation. *' ANTHONY GUPTIL." 




Vol. XV. 

AUGUST, 1888, 

No. 10. 

By Edward Irf.N/EUS Stevenson. 

SUPPOSE that most 
of the boys who read 
these pages have at 
one time or another 
H privatel)' inquired of 
friends of their own 
age, or friends who 
are older, and there- 
fore supposed to have 
clearer judgments : 
"Come, now, do you 
really believe that there is any such thing as the 
sea-serpent?" The question is generally put in a 
manner which leaves a fair opportunity for the in- 
quirer to exclaim, " Well, I do, too ! " or '• I don't, 
either ! " according to the nature of the answer ex- 
tracted. Three classes of persons may easily be 
formed from intelligent and thinking people of all 
ages : Those who believe that the statements we 
possess (from one source or another) warrant the 
conclusion that there are sea-serpents ; those who 

ridicule the idea that sea-serpents exist ; and those 
who do not know enough on the topic to properly 
decide. But to any student of natural history the 
sea-serpent question is one which well deserves a 
careful sifting. 

It is hardly necessary to say how old is the notion 
that huge monsters of the snake sort make their 
home deep in the seas, now and then showing 
themselves to terrify mankind. In fact, if the 
notion were not so old as to seem to find its source 
in fables and mythological legends, one reason for 
douljting the reality of the creature would be re- 
moved. Most of these extremely ancient descrip- 
tions come from the Northern lands, and the cold 
oceans of Scandinavia. Thus, one ancient author, 
Olaus Magnus, speaks of a sea-snake two hundred 
feet long that rose from the waves, towered above 
a ship's mast, and snapped up cattle and men in 
its jaws. In the old " Chronicle of Prodigies and 
Portents," by Conrad Wolfhart, a German of the 
sixteenth century, we find strange, rude pictures 




of serpentine creatures, in which he put all due crews discharging cannon at the foe some twelve 
faith ; there is the " Alcete," an animal with a centuries before cannon were in use, there may 
scaly body and a head like a wild boar, and the be other errors. 

" Physeter," a horrible freak of the imagination, To come to later accounts. In 1639 an English 
which has a horse's head, the teeth of a dragon, and traveler named Josselyn, who came over to New 
the blow-holes of the whale. Wolfhart narrates England on a visit, was told of a sea-serpent that 
that in 151 B. C, on the coast of Sardinia, several lay coiled on some rocks at Cape Ann, Massa- 
mighty snakes came up from the sea and attacked chusetts. And it should be observed how early 
vessels ; but, as his picture shows the alarmed Massachusetts waters and the New England coast 

became the regions linked with 
appearances of the mysterious 
creature. Some Indians who 
rowed near this one, in a skiff, 
were sorely frightened and 
warned the Englishmen with 
them not to fire at it, or they 
would be in peril. Unluckily, 
Mr. Josselyn was not of the 
boat-party, and the result is 
that we get this account only 
by hearsay. 

The next narrative of value 
is a singular description by the 
Rev. Hans Egede, a distin- 
guished missionary to Green- 
land, who records in his diary 
in 1734, the rising to the sur- 
face of the sea near his parish 
of a "monster" so huge in 
AN artist's IDEA OF THE SEA-SERPENT. slzc that, coming out of thc 


water, its head reached as high as tlie mainmast. 
It had a long, pointed snout, and spouted like 
a whale. The under part of the body was shaped 
like that of a huge serpent. This remarkable 
creature seems to have been more like a giant- 
squid than like any animal of the serpent kind. 

Two records of our mysterious monster, with 
plenty of details, soon follow. Joseph Kent, sen- 
man, beheld in Broad Bay, in May, 175 i, a great 
serpent longer and thicker than the main-boom of 
his eighty-five-ton ship ; and good Bishop Pontop- 
pidan, in his famous "Natural History of Nor- 
way," tells us that the Norwegian coast is the only 
European shore visited by the creature ; and that a 
formidable specimen, six hundred feet long, with its 
extended back looking like a row of floating hogs- 
heads, was chased by a boat's crew of eight sailors 
underacertain Captain de Ferry, but that itescaped. 

Passing by the statement of Eleazar Crabtree, 
who declares that in 1778 he saw this shy swim- 
mer on the surface of Penobscot Bay, we reach a 
really important record dated the next year, 1779. 
In that year Commodore Preble (afterward 
so famous as one of our naval heroes, but 
then a young midshipman) pursued with a 
boat and twelve seamen, a monster — a sea- 
serpent between one hundred and one hun- 
dred and fifty feet in length, with a huge 
head. Its motion was so rapid that it could 
not be overtaken. It was observed at in- 
tervals for an hour. It is at least odd, if 
there was any deception, that one year later 
Mr. George Little sighted what seems to 
have been the same snake, in Round Pond, 
Broad Bay. 

You will see that we have now come to the 
century in which we are living ; for it is in 
1802 that we meet our next witness to the 
sea-serpent, Abraham Cummings. Abraham 
Cummings declared that he knew of six ap- 
pearances of the animal, all in the same 
neighborhood, Penobscot Bay ; and three 
other persons said the same thing. In 1808, 
a decaying carcass of something was found on an 
Orkney Island beach. It had a wonderfully snaky 
look, but proved to be the remains of a remarkably 
long and thin shark. But in this same year, Rev. 
Mr. Maclean, a clergyman of Eigg, sent a careful 
description of a sea-serpent with a " head some- 
what broad," that swam " with his head above 
water, and with the wind for about half a mile " 
before vanishing; he described it as seventy or 
eighty feet in length. This must have been a truly 
sea-serpentish and formidable creature. 

There are nearly fifty stories, some from trust- 
worthy and some from scarcely reliable sources, as 
to the comings, and goings, and showings of this 

ocean riddle, up to the year 1840. A large num- 
ber are from the Massachusetts shore. The ser- 
pent is generally described as coming into view- 
suddenly, on clear days when the sea was smooth; 
and, however warlike its look, it was always readily 
alarmed and departed swiftly and peacefully. 

The Norway coasts, also, were not forgotten by 
it. In 1848 the British ship " Da;dalus," under 
Captain McOuahae, encountered a huge specimen, 
seen distinctly by those on board the ship and 
described by them with much care, in reply to 
various scientific men who wished to investigate the 
matter thoroughly. In 1875 the crew of the ship 
" Pauline " encountered avast serpent, coiled twice 
around the carcass of a sperm-whale, elevating its 
neck and head in the air, and finally vanishing 
below the water ! This rather startling story was 
carefully examined into ; and the statements seem 
to be entirely correct. 

On August 3d, of that year, 1875, we find one of 
the most remarkable accounts of the sea-serpent's 
advent on record. A party of well-known New 

f .--.T.-aSW,,. ,# /•}' 

AN' ARTISTS IDEA ijl- Til!': SIv I'. 1.1': I ON (il A SH A-Si' K'l'F NT, 

England gentlemen and ladies, four in number, 
besides two sailors, from the deck of the small 
yacht " Princess," while sailing between Swamps- 
cott and Egg Rock, saw an animal that would 
certainly appear to have been no other than our 
erratic friend. At a distance of about one hun- 
dred or one hundred and fifty yards from the 
yacht, from time to time a huge head, like that 
of a turtle or snake, rose six or eight feet above 
the waves. It was seen by all the party during 
two hours. Other persons claim to have seen this 
animal on the same day. One of the " Princess" 
party made a sketch of it, there being plenty of 
time to complete the portrait. 





More interesting still, are (he descriptions of the 
serpent "striped black and white," with an ex- 
tremely large head and rather flat, enormous, 
projecting eyes, coarse scales and fins, seen by a 
Captain Garton, of the steamer "Norman," July 
17th, 1875, and also by a passenger on the steam- 
ship " Roman " on the same day. This snake's 
length was recorded as over one hundred feet, and 

Singularly enough, these observers could not dis- 
cover its mouth or eyes. It was of a dark color 
and great bulk. 

During the last ten years the sea-serpent has re- 
appeared, according to accounts of greater or less 
trustworthiness, several dozen times. Perhaps the 
most remarkable and interesting are two verj- 
recent accounts, both, in fact, only two years old 


it was either pursuing a sword-fish, or being pur- 
sued by him. 

On July 15th, 1877, Mr. George S. Wesson and 
Mr. F. W. Fernald caught sight of the animal 
under especially favorable circumstances, — and 
they gave vivid descriptions of its rough, scaly 
skin, its back covered with the "humpy" pro- 
tuberances that others have mentioned, and the 
seething of the waves above it, as it rose and sank. 

On June 17th, 1886, six men, while rowing near 
(Gloucester, suddenly saw a seal at a distance of 
about sixty rods, sharply pursued by a creature 
that seemed unmistakably of the serpent race. It 
was sixty or seventy feet long, black, with a white 
stripe under the throat, and it held its head some 
three feet in the air. At one instant the seal was 
seen to jump furiously from the water, to escape 
the creature's attack. The pursuer seemed afraid 




to enter shoal water, and so presently gave up the 
chase, and quickly departed seaward again. The 
men who watched this extraordinary scene are of 
excellent character, and agree that by no possi- 
bility could their sight have been deceived. The 
second narrative attracted more attention. Early 
on the afternoon of August 12th, also of 1886, Mr. 
Granville B. Putnam, of Boston, Mr. Calvin W. 

Pool, and a large number of Gloucester residents 
saw the monster for about ten minutes near Rock- 
port. Its color was dark brown, and its length 
apparently eighty feet, at least. No eyes could 
be discovered. It swam with great speed, cutting 
the water with what looked like a pair of sub- 
merged fins ; and its back presented the odd look 
of " humpiness," or " a row of lumps " along its 


{From a pamtiug by Ktihu V'edder.i 



length, recorded by various observers. This sea- 
serpent also appeared in the vicinity during the 
following ten days. It is a particularly reliable 
account in every respect. That autumn there were 
also one or two other visits recorded, all dated 
Jrom the New England or the Norwegian coasts. 

So runs the list of appearances of this singular 
creature ; and we have not given all. The same 
peculiar " points " are repeated, of late years, over 
and over, and the witnesses generally agree pretty 
closely with one another. The serpent invariably 
shows itself in the higher latitudes, and always in 
summer or early autumn. As to length, color, gen- 
eral appearance, motion, its curious harmlessness, 
and so on, the different tales are strangely alike. 

cleverly take a hint from the first paragraph of this 
article for your benefit, and are content to ask the 
writer for his own opinion, he will answer frankly 
that he thinks it undeniable that there is some 
extraordinary creature of the serpent species, at- 
taining great size, and making its home in the 
deeper and colder water of our northern seas, 
above which it occasionally shows its timid head. 
The ocean is a vast world by itself, and we do not 
realize how little we know of it. But by all means 
remember that it is summer-time again, and his 
sphinx-like highness may be wandering near some 
of our sea-shore resorts. A prize to the reader of 
this paper who first interviews, without any mis- 
understanding, the genuine and true sea-serpent ! 


Certainly, if so many sensible and cool-headed Perhaps you are sitting on the sand, as you read 

persons have been, year by year, deluded, there these lines. If so, now that you have finished, look 

is something in the sea-air besides a cure for hot about you sharply. You may suddenly add your 

weather. What do you think ? If youaredisposedto own experience to the mass of testimony. 

By Eben E. Rexford. 

A LITTLE song for bedtime, when, robed in gowns of white, 
All sleepy little children set sail across the night 
For that pleasant, pleasant country where the pretty dream-flowers l)low 
'Twixt the sunset and the sunrise, 

" For the Slumber Islands, ho ! " 

When the little ones get drowsy and heavy lids droop down 
To hide blue eyes and black eyes, gray eyes and eyes of brown, 
A thousand boats for Dreamland are waiting in a row, 
And the ferrymen are calling, 

" For the Slumber Islands, ho !" 

Then the sleepy little children fill the boats along the shore, 
And go sailing off to Dreamland ; and the dipping of the oar 
In the Sea of Sleep makes music that the children only know 
When they answer to the boatmen's 

" For the Slumber Islands, ho ! " 

Oh ! take a kiss, my darlings, ere you sail away from mt 
In the boat of dreams that 's waiting to bear you o'er the sea ; 
Take a kiss and give one, and then away you go 
A-sailing into Dreamland. 

" For the Slumber Islands, ho ! " 




By Thomas Nelson Page. 

Chapter XII. 

The gibes of Lucy Ann, and the occasional 
little thrusts of Hugh, about the " deserter busi- 
ness," continued and kept the boys stirred up. 
At length they could stand it no longer. It was 
decided between them that they must retrieve 
their reputations by capturing a real deserter and 
turning him over to the conscript-officer whose 
office was at the depot. 

Accordingly, one Saturday they started out on 
an expedition, the object of which was to capture 
a deserter though they should die in the attempt. 

The conscript-guard had been unusually active 
lately, and it was said that several deserters had 
been caught. 

The boys turned in at their old road, and made 
their way into Holetown. Their guns were loaded 
with large slugs, and they felt the ardor of battle 
thrill them as they marched along down the nar- 
row roadway. They were trudging on when they 
were hailed by name from behind. Turning, they 
saw their friend Tim Mills, coming along at the 
same slouching gait in which he always walked. 
His old single-barrel gun was thrown across his 
arm, and he looked a little rustier than on the 
day he had shared their lunch. The boys held 
a little whispered conversation, and decided on a 
treaty of friendship. 

" Good-mornin'," he said, on coming up to 
them. " How 's your ma?" 

" Good-morning. She 's right well." 

"What y' all doin' ? Huntin' d'serters agin?" 
he asked. 

" Yes. Come on and help us catch them." 

"No; I can't do that — exactly ; — but I tell 
you what I can do. I can tell you whar one is ! " 

The boys' faces glowed. " All right !" 

" Let me see," he began, reflectively chewing 
a stick. " Does y' all know Billy Johnson?" 

The boys did not know him. 

" You sure you don't know him ? He 's a tall, 
long fellow, 'bout forty years old, and breshes his 
hair mighty slick ; got a big nose, and a gap- 
tooth, and a moustache. He lives down in the 
lower neighborhood.'' 

Even after this description the boys failed to 
recognize him. 

" Well, he 's the feller. I can tell you right 

whar he is, this minute. He did me a mean 
trick, an' I 'm gvvine to give him up. Come 

" What did he do to you? " inquired the boys, 
as they followed him down the road. 

"Why — he — ; but 't 's no use to be rakin' 
it up agin. You know he always passes hisself 
off as one o' the conscrip'-guards, — that 's his 
dodge. Like as not, that 's what he 's gwine try 
and put off on y' all now ; but don't you let him 
fool you." 

" We 're not going to," said the boys. 

" He rigs hisself up in a uniform — jes'like as 
not he stole it, too, — an' goes roun' foolin' people, 
mekin' out he 's such a soldier. If he fools with 
me, I 'm gwine to finish him ! " Here Tim gripped 
his gun fiercely. 

The boys promised not to be fooled by the wily 
Johnson. All they asked was to have him pointed 
out to them. 

" Don't you let him put up any game on you 
'bout bein' a conscrip'-guard hisself," continued 
their friend. 

" No, indeed we won't. We are obliged to you 
for telling us." 

" He ain't so very fur from here. He 's mighty 
tecken up with John Hall's gal, and is tryin' to 
meek out hke he 's Gen'l Lee hisself, an' she ain' 
got no mo' sense than to b'lieve him." 

" Why, we heard, Mr. Mills, she was going to 
marry jc//." 

" Oh, no, / ain't a good enough soldier for her ; 
she wants to marry GetiU Lee." 

The boys laughed at his dry tone. 

As they walked along they consulted how the 
capture should be made. 

"I tell you how to take him," said their com- 
panion. " He is a monstrous coward, and all you 
got to do is jest to bring your guns down on him. 
I would n't shoot him — 'nless he tried to run; 
but if he did that, when he got a little distance 
I 'd pepper him about his legs. Make him give 
up his sword and pistol and don't let him ride ; 
'cause if you do, he '11 git away. Make him walk — 
the rascal ! " 

The boys promised to carry out these kindly 

They soon came in sight of the little house 
where Mills said the deserter was. A soldier's 


horse was standing tied at the gate, with a sword 
hung from the saddle. The owner, in full uniform, 
was sitting on the porch. 

" I can't go any furder," whispered their friend ; 
" but that 's him — that 's ' Gen'l Lee ' — the triflin' 
scoundrel ! — loafin' 'roun' here 'sted o' goin' in the 
army ! I b'lieve y' all is 'fraid to take him," eying 
the boys suspiciously. 

" No, we ain't ; you '11 see," said both boys, fired 
at the doubt. 

" All right ; I 'm goin' to wait right here and 
watch you. Go ahead." 

The boys looked at the guns to see if they were 
all right, and marched up the road keeping their 
eyes on the enemy. It was agreed that Frank was 
to do the talking and give the orders. 

They said not a word until they reached the 
gate. They could see a young woman moving 
about in the house, setting a table. At the gate 
they stopped, so as to prevent the man from get- 
ting to his horse. 

The soldier eyed them curiously. " I wonder 
whose boys they is ? " he said to himself. " They 's 
certainly actin' comical ! Playin' soldiers, I reckon. " 

" Cock your gun — easy," said Frank, in a low 
tone, suiting his own action to the word. 

Willy obeyed. 

"Come out here, if you please," Frank called 
to the man. He could not keep his voice from 
shaking a little, but the rose and lounged out 
toward them. His prompt compliance reassured 

They stood, gripping their guns and watching 
him as he advanced. 

"Come outside the gate!" He did as Frank 

'• What do you want ? " he asked impatiently. 

"You are our prisoner," said Frank, sternly, 
dropping down his gun with the muzzle toward the 
captive, and giving a glance at Willy to see that 
he was supported. 

" Your what? What do you mean ? " 

" We arrest you as a deserter." 

How proud Willy was of Frank ! 

" Go 'way from here ; I ain't no deserter. I 'm 
a-huntin' for deserters, myself," the man replied, 

Frank smiled at Willy with a nod, as much as 
to say, " You see, — just what Tim told us ! " 
" Ain't your name Mr. Billy Johnson ? " 
"Yes; that 's my name." 

" You are the man we 're looking for. March 
down triat road. But don't run, — if you do, 
we '11 shoot you ! " 

As the boys seemed perfectly serious and the 
muzzles of both guns were pointing directly at him, 
the man began to think that they were in earnest. 

But he could hardly credit his senses. A suspicion 
flashed into his mind. 

"Look here, boys," he said, rather angrily, " I 
don't want any of your foolin' with me. I 'ni too 
old to play with children. If you all don't go 'long 
home and stop giving me impudence. 1 '11 slap you 
over!" He started rather angrily toward Frank. 
As he did so, Frank brought the gun to his 

" Stand back!" he said, looking along the bar- 
rel, right into the man's eyes. "If you move a 
step, I '11 blow your head off ! " 

The soldier's jaw fell. He stopped and threw up 
his arm before his eyes. 

" Hold on ! " he called ; " don't shoot ! Boys, 
ain't you got better sense 'n that? " 

" March on down that road. Willy, you get the 
horse," said Frank, decidedly. 

The soldier glanced over toward the house. The 
voice of the young woman was heard singing a war 
song in a high key. 

" Ef Mellindy sees me, I 'm a goner," he re- 
flected. " Jes come down the road a little piece, 
will you ?" he asked, persuasively. 

"' No talking, — march ! " ordered Frank. 

He looked at each of the boys ; the guns still 
kept their perilous direction. The boys' eyes 
looked fiery to his surprised senses. 

" Who is y' all ? " he asked. 

" We are two little Confederates ! That 's who 
we are," said Willy. 

" Is any of your parents ever — ever been in a 
asylum ? " he asked, as calmly as he could. 

"That 's none of your business," said Captain 
Frank. " March on ! " 

The man cast a despairing glance toward the 
house, where " The years " were " creeping slowly 
by, Lorena," in a very high pitch, — and then 
moved on. 

" I 'nope she ain't seen nothin'," he thought. 
" If I jest can git them guns away from 'em " 

Frank followed close behind him with his old gun 
held ready for need, and Willy untied the horse 
and led it. The bushes concealed them from the 

As soon as they were well out of sight of the 
house, Frank gave the order : 

" Halt ! " They all haUed. 

" Willy, tie the horse." It was done. 

" I wonder if those boys is thinkin' 'bout shootin' 
me? " thought the soldier, turning and putting his 
hand on his pistol. 

As he did so, Frank's gun came to his shoul- 

" Throw up your hands or you are a dead man." 
The hands went up. 

"Willy, keep your gun on him, while I search 




him for any weapons." Willy cocked the old mus- 
ket and brought it to bear on the prisoner. 

" Little boy, don't handle that thing so reckless," 
the man expostulated. "Ef that musket was to 
go off, it might kill me ! " 

" No talking," coinmanded Frank, going up to 
him. " Hold up your hands. Willy, shoot him 
if he moves. " 

Frank drew a long pistol from its holster with 
an air of business. He searched carefully, but there 
were no more. 

The fellow gritted his teeth. " If she ever hears 
oi this, Tim 's got her certain," he groaned ; " but 
she won't never hear." 

At a turn in the road his heart sank within him ; 
for just around the curve they came upon Tim 
Mills sitting quietly on a stump. He looked at 
them with a quizzical eye, but said not a word. 

The prisoner's face was a study when he recog- 
nized his rival and enemy. As Mills did not move, 
his courage returned. 

" Good mornin', Tim," he said, with great po- 

The man on the stump said nothing; he only 
looked on with complacent enjoyment. 

" Tim, is these two boys crazy ? " he asked slowly. 

" They 're crazy 'bout shootin' deserters," re- 
plied Tim. 

" Tim, tell 'em I ain't no deserter." His voice 
was full of entreaty. 

" Well, if you ain't a d'serter, what you doin' 
outn the army ? " 

" You know " began the fellow fiercely ; but 

Tim shifted his long single-barrel lazily into his 
hand and looked the man straight in the eyes, and 
the prisoner stopped. 

" Yes, I know," said Tim with a sudden spark 
in his eyes. "An'ji/c?^ know," he added after a 
pause, during which his face resumed its usual list- 
less look. " An' my edvice to you is to go 'long 
with them boys, if you don't want to git three loads 
of slugs in you. They may put 'em in you anyway. 
They 's sort o' 'stracted 'bout d'serters, and I can 
swear to it." He touched his forehead expressively. 

" March on ! " said Frank. 

The prisoner, grinding his teeth, moved forward, 
followed by his guards. 

Each man sent the same ugly look after the other 
as the enemies parted. 

"It's all over! He's got her," groaned John- 
son. As they passed out of sight. Mills rose and 
sauntered somewhat briskly (for him) in the di- 
rection of John Hall's. 

They soon reached a little stream, not far from 
the depot where the provost-guard was stationed. 
On its banks the man made his last stand ; but his 
obstinacy brought a black muzzle close to his head 

with a stern little face behind it, and he was fain 
to march straight through the water, as he was 

Just as he was emerging on the other bank, with 
his boots full of water and his trousers dripping, 
closely followed by Frank brandishing his pistol, a 
small body of soldiers rode up. They were the 
conscript-guard. Johnson's look was despairing. 

" Why, Billy, what in thunder — ? Thought you 
were sick in bed ! " 

Another minute and the soldiers took in the 
situation by instinct — and Johnson's rage was 
drowned in the universal explosion of laughter. 

The boys had captured a member of the con- 
script-guard ! 

In the inidst of it all, Frank and Willy, over- 
whelmed by their ridiculous error, took to their heels 
as hard as they could, and the last sounds that 
reached them were the roars of the soldiers as the 
scampering boys disappeared in a cloud of dust. 

Johnson went back, in a few days, to see John 
Hall's daughter; but the young lady declared she 
would n't marry any man who let two boys make 
him wade through a creek; and a month or two 
later she married Tim Mills. 

To all the gibes he heard on the subject of his 
capture, and they were many, Johnson made but 
one reply : 

" Them boys 's had parents in a asylum, sure / " 

Chapter Xlll. 

It was now nearing the end of the third year of 
the war. 

Hugh was seventeen, and was eager to go into the 
army. His mother would have liked to keep him 
at home ; but she felt that it was her duty not to 
withhold anything, and Colonel Marshall offered 
Hugh a place with him. So a horse was bought, 
and Hugh went to Richmond and came back with 
a uniform and a saber. The boys truly thought 
that General Lee himself was not so imposing or so 
great a soldier as Hugh. They followed him about 
like two pet dogs, and when he sat down they stood 
and gazed at him adoringly. 

When Hugh rode away to the army it was harder 
to part with him than they had expected ; and 
though he had left them his gun and dog, to con- 
sole them during his absence, it was difficult to keep 
from crying. Everyone on the plantation was 
moved. Uncle Balla, who up to the last moment 
had been very lively attending to the horse, as the 
young soldier galloped away sank down on the 
end of the steps of the office, and, dropping his 
hands on his knees, followed Hugh with his eyes 
until he disappeared over the hill. The old driver 
said nothing, but his face expressed a great deal. 




The boys' mother cried a great deal, but it was 
generally when she was by herself. 

"She 's afraid Hugh '11 be kilt," Willy said to 
Uncle Balla, in explanation of her tears, — the old 
servant having remarked that he "b'lieved she 
cried more, when Hugh went away, than she did 
when Marse John and Marse William both went." 

" Hi ! war n't she 'fred they '11 be kilt, too ? " he 
asked in some scorn. 

This was beyond Willy's logic, so he pondered 
over it. 

" Yes, but she 's afraid Hugh '11 be kilt, as well 

That winter, the place where the army went 
into winter-quarters was some distance from Oak- 
land; but the young officers used to ride over, 
from time to time, two or three together, and stay 
for a day or two. 

Times were harder than they had been before, 
but the young people were as gay as ever. 

The Colonel, who had been dreadfully wounded 
in the summer, had been made a brigadier-general 
for gallantry. Hugh had received a slight wound 
in the same action. The General had written to 
the boys' mother about him ; but he had not been 


as them," he said finally, as the best solution of 
the problem. 

It did not seem to wholly satisfy Uncle Balla's 
mind, for when he moved off he said, as though 
talking to himself : 

" She sutn'ey is ' sot ' on that boy. He '11 be a 
gen'l hisself, the first thing she know." 

There was a bond of sympathy between Uncle 
Balla and his mistress which did not exist so 
strongly between her and any of the other servants. 
It was due perhaps to the fact that he was the 
companion and friend of her boys. 

home. The General had gone back to his com- 
mand. He had never been to Oakland since he 
was wounded. 

One evening, the boys had just teased their 
Cousin Belle into reading them their nightly por- 
tion of "The Talisman," as they sat before a 
bright lightwood fire, when two horsemen gal- 
loped up to the gate, their horses splashed with 
mud from fetlocks to ears. In a second, Lucy Ann 
dashed headlong into the room, with her teeth 
gleaming : 

"Here Marse Hugh, out here ! " 




There was a scamper to the door — the boys 
first, shouting at the tops of their voices, Cousin 
Belle next, and Lucy Ann close at her heels. 

"Who's with him, Lucy Ann?" asked Miss 
Belle, as they reached the passage-way, and heard 
several voices outside. 

"The Gunnel's with 'im." 

The young lady turned and fled up the steps as 
fast as she could. 

"You see I brought my welcome with mc," 
said the General, addressing the boy's mother, and 
laying his hand on his young aide's shoulder, as 
they stood, a little later, "thawing out" by the 
roaring log-fire in the sitting-room. 

"You always bring that; but you are doubly 
welcome for bringing this young soldier back to 
me," said she, putting her arm affectionatelj' 
around her son. 

Just then the boys came rushing in from taking 
the horses to the stable. They made a dive 
toward the fire to warm their little chapped hands. 

"I told you Hugh war n't as tall as the Gen- 
eral," said Frank, across the hearth to Willy. 

" Who said he was ? " 


"I did n't." 

"You did." 

They were a contradictory pair of youngsters, 
and their voices, pitched in a youthful treble, were 
apt in discussion to strike a somewhat higher key ; 
but it did not follow that they were in an ill humor 
merely because they contradicted each other. 

"What did you say, if you did n't say that?" 
insisted Frank. 

" I said he looked as if he flioi/g/if himself as tall 
as the General," declared Willy, defiantly, oblivious 
in his excitement of the eldest brother's presence. 
There was a general laugh at Hugh's confusion; 
but Hugh had carried an order across a field 
under a hot fire, and had brought a regiment up 
in the nick of time, riding by its colonel's side in a 
charge which had changed the issue of the fight, 
and had a saber wound in the arm to show for it. 
He could therefore afford to pass over such an 
accusation with a little tweak of Willy's ear. 

"Where 's Cousin Belle?" asked Frank. 

" I s'peck she 's putting on her fine clothes for 
the General to see. Did n't she run when she 
heard he was here ! " 

" Willy ! " said his mother, reprovingly. 

"Well, she did. Ma." 

His mother shook her head at him ; but the 
General put his hand on the boy, and drew him 

" You say she ran ? " he asked, with a pleasant 
light in his eyes. 

" Yes, sirree ; she did that." 

Just then the door opened, and their Cousin 
Belle entered the room. She looked perfectly 
beautiful. The greetings were very cordial — to 
Hugh especially. She threw her arms around his 
neck, and kissed him. 

'•' You young hero ! " she cried. " Oh ! Hugh, I 
am so proud of you ! " — kissing him again, and 
laughing at him, with her face glowing, and her 
big brown eyes full of light. " Where were you 
wounded ? Oh ! 1 was so frightened when I heard 
about it ! " 

" Where was it ? Show it to us, Hugh ; please 
do," exclaimed both boys at once, jumping around 
him, and pulling at his arm. 

" Oh, Hugh, is it still very painful ? " asked his 
cousin, her pretty face filled with sudden sym- 

"Oh! no, it was nothing — nothing but a 
scratch," said Hugh, shaking the boys off, his 
expression being divided between feigned indiffer- 
ence and sheepishness, at this praise in the presence 
of his chief 

" No such thing. Miss Belle," put in the Gen- 
eral, glad of the chance to secure her commenda- 
tion. " It might have been very serious, and it 
was a splendid ride he made." 

"Were you not ashamed of yourself to send 
him into such danger?" she said, turning on him 
suddenh'. " Why did you not go yourself? " 

The young man laughed. Her beauty entranced 
him. He had scars enough to justify him in keep- 
ing silence under her pretended reproach. 

" Well, you see, I could n't leave the place 
where I was. I had to send some one, and I 
knew Hugh would do it. He led the regiment 
after the colonel and major fell — and he did it 
splendidly, loo." 

There was a chorus from the young lady and the 
boys together. 

" Oh, Hugh, you hear what he says ! " exclaimed 
the former, turning to her cousin. " Oh, I am so 
glad that he thinks so ! " Then, recollecting that 
she was paying him the highest compliment, she 
suddenly began to blush, and turned once more 
to him. "' Well, you talk as if you were surprised. 
Did you expect anything else ?" 

There was a fine scorn in her voice, if it had 
been real. 

" Certainly not ; you are all too clever at making 
an attack," he said coolly, looking her in the eyes. 
" But I have heard even of your running away," 
he added, with a twinkle in his eyes. 

" When ? " she asked quickly, with a little guilty 
color deepening in her face, as she glanced at the 
boys. " I never did." 

" Oh, she did ! " exclaimed both boys in a breath, 
breaking in, now that the conversation was within 




their range. " You ought to have seen her. She 
just fleiv ! " exclaimed Frank. 

The girl made a rush at the offender to stop 

" He does n't know what he is talking about," 
she said, roguishly, over her shoulder. 

"Yes, he does," called 
the other. " She was 
standing at the foot of the 
steps when you all came, 
and — 00 — oo — oo — " 
the rest was lost as his 
cousin placed her hand 
close over his mouth. 

"There, there ! runaway! 
You are too dangerous. 
They don't know what 
they are talking about," 
she said, throwing a 
glance toward the young 
officer, who was keenly 
enjoying her confusion. 
Her hand slipped from 
Willie's mouth and he went 
on. " And when she heard 
it was you, she just clapped 
her hands and ran — oo 
— 00 — umm." 

" Here, Hugh, put them 
out," she said to that 
young man, who, glad to 
do her bidding, seized both 
miscreants by their arms 
and carried them out, clos- 
ing the door after them. 

Hugh bore the boys into 
the dining-room, where he 
kept them until supper- 

After supper, the rest 
of the family dispersed, 
and the boys' mother in- 
vited them to come with 
her and Hugh to her own 
room, though they were 
eager to go and see the 

known him so affable with them. They did not 
see much of the General, after breakfast. He 
seemed to like to stay "stuck up in the house" 
all the time, talking to Cousin Belle ; the boys 
thought this due to his lameness. Something had 
occurred, the boys didn't understand just what; 


General, and were much 

troubled lest he should think their mother was 
rude in leaving him. 

Chapter XIV. 

The next day was Sunday. The General and 
Hugh had but one day to stay. They were to 
leave at daybreak the following morning. They 
thoroughly enjoyed their holiday; at least the 
boys knew that Hugh did. They had never 

but the General was on an entirely new footing 
with all of them, and their Cousin Belle was in 
some way concerned in the change. She did not 
any longer run from the General, and it seemed 
to them as though everyone acted as if he belonged 
to her. The boys did not altogether like the state 
of affairs. That afternoon, however, he and their 
Cousin Belle let the boys go out walking with 
them, and he was just as hearty as he could be ; 
he made them tell him all about capturing the 




deserter, and about catching the hogs, and every- 
thing they did. They told him all about their 
"Robbers' Cave," down in the woods near where 
an old house had stood. It was between two ravines 
near a spring they had found. They had fixed up 
the " cave " with boards and old pieces of carpet 
" and everything," and they told him, as a secret, 
how to get to it through the pines without leaving 
a trail. He had to give the holy pledge of the 
"Brotherhood" before this could be divulged to 
him ; but he took it with a solemnity which made 
the boys almost forgive the presence of their Cousin 
Belle. It was a little awkward at first that she 
was present ; but as the " Constitution " provided 
only as to admitting men to the mystic knowl- 
edge, saying nothing about women, this difficulty 
was, on the General's suggestion, passed over, and 
the boys fully explained the location of the spot, 
and how to get there by turning off abruptly from 
the path through the big woods right at the pine 
thicket, — and all the rest of the way. 

" 'T ain't a 'sure-enough' cave," explained 
Willy ; " but it 's 'most as good as one. The old 
rock fire-place is just like a cave." 

" The gullies are so deep you can't get there 
except that one way," declared Frank. 

"Even the Yankees couldn't find you there," 
asserted Willy. 

" I don't believe anybody could, after that; but 
I trust they will never have to try," laughed their 
Cousin Belle, with an anxious look in her bright 
eyes, at the mere thought. 

That night they were at supper, about eight 
o'clock, when something out-of-doors attracted 
the attention of the party around the table. It 
was a noise, — a something indefinable, but the 
talk and mirth stopped suddenly, and everybody 

There was a call, and the hurried steps of some 
one running, just outside the door, and Lucy Ann 
burst into the room, her face ashy pale. 

"The yard 's full o' mens — Yankees, "she gasped, 
just as the General and Hugh rose from the table. 

" How many are there ? " asked both gentlemen. 

" They 's all 'roun' the house ev'y which a-way." 

The General looked at his sweetheart. She came 
to his side with a cry. 

" Go upstairs to the top of the house," called 
the boys' mother. 

"We can hide you; come with us," said the 

" Go up the back way, Frank 'n' Willy, to you- 
all 's den," whispered Lucy Ann. 

" That 's where we are going," said the boys as 
she went out. 

" You all come on ! " This to the General and 

"The rest of you take your seats," said the 
boys' mother. 

All this had occupied only a few seconds. The 
soldiers followed the boys out by a side-door and 
dashed up the narrow stairs to the second-story 
just as a thundering knocking came at the front- 
door. It was as dark as pitch, for candles were too 
scarce to burn more than one at a time. 

"You run back," said Hugh, to the boys, as 
they groped along. " There are too many of us. 
I know the way." 

But it was too late ; the noise downstairs told 
that the enemy was already in the house ! 

As the soldiers left the supper-room, the boys' 
mother had hastily removed two plates from the 
places and set two chairs back against the wall ; 
she made the rest fill up the spaces, so that there 
was nothing to show that the two men had been 

She had hardly taken her seat again, when the 
sound of heavy footsteps at the door announced the 
approach of the enemy. She herself rose and went 
to the door ; but it was thrown open before she 
reached it and an officer in full Federal uniform 
strode in, followed by several men. 

The commander was a tall young fellow, not older 
than the General. The lady started back somewhat 
startled, and there was a confused chorus of excla- 
mations of alarm from the rest of those at the table. 
The officer, finding himself in the presence of ladies, 
removed his cap with a polite bow. 

" I hope, madam, that you ladies will not be 
alarmed," he said. " You need be under no ap- 
prehension, I assure you." Even while speaking, 
his eye had taken a hasty survey of the room. 

" We desire to see General Marshall, who is at 
present in this house, and I am sorry to have to in- 
clude your son in my requisition. We know that 
they are here, and if they are given up, I promise 
you that nothing shall be disturbed." 

" You appear to be so well instructed that I can 
add little to your information," said the mistress 
of the house, haughtily. " I am glad to say, how- 
ever, that I hardly think you will find them." 

" Madam, I know they are here," said the young 
soldier positively, but with great pohteness. "I 
have positive information fo that effect. They ar- 
rived last evening and have not left since. Their 
horses are still in the stable. I am sorry to be 
forced to do violence to my feelings, but I must 
search the house. Come, men." 

"I doubt not you have found their horses," 
began the lady; but she was interrupted by Lucy 
Ann, who entered at the moment with a plate of 
fresh corn-cakes, and caught the last part of the 

" Come along, Mister," she said, " I '11 show 




you, myself"; and she set down her plate, took 
the candle from the table and walked to the door, 
followed by the soldiers. 

" Lucy Ann ! " exclaimed her mistress; but she 
was too much amazed at the girl's conduct to say 

" I know whar dey is ! " Lucy Ann continued, 
taking no notice of her mistress. They heard her 
say, as she was shutting the door, " Y' all come 
with me ; I 'feared they gone ; ef they ain't, I know 
whar they is ! " 

" Open every room," said the officer. 

"Oh, yes, sir; I gwine ketch 'em for you," she 
said, eagerly opening first one door, and then the 
other, " that is, ef they ain' gone. I mighty 'feared 
they gone. I seen 'em goin' out the back way 
about a little while befo' you all come, — but I 
thought they might 'a' come back. Mister, ken 
y' all teck me 'long with you when you go ? " she 
asked the officer, in a low voice. "I want to be 

" I don't know; we can some other time, if not 
now. We are going to set you all free." 

"Oh, glory! Come 'long. Mister; let 's ketch 
'em. They ain't heah, but I know whar dey is." 

The soldiers closely examined every place where 
it was possible a man could be concealed, until 
they had been over all the lower part of the house. 

Lucy Ann stopped. " Dey 's gone ! " she said 

The officer motioned to her to go upstairs. 

"Yes, sir, 1 wuz jes' goin' tell you we jes' well 
look upstairs, too," she said, leading the way, talk- 
ing all the time, and shading the flickering candle 
with her hand. 

The little group, flat on the floor against the 
wall in their dark retreat, could now hear her voice 
distinctly. She was speaking in a confidential 
undertone, as if afraid of being overheard. 

" I wonder I did n't have sense to get somebody 
to watch 'em when they went out," they heard her 

" She 's betrayed us ! " whispered Hugh. 

The General merely said, " Hush," and laid his 
hand firmly on the nearest boy to keep him still. 
Lucy Ann led the soldiers into the various cham- 
bers one after another. At last she opened the next 
room, and, through the walls, the men in hiding 
heard the soldiers go in and walk about. 

They estimated that there were at least half-a- 

" Is n't there a garret? " asked one of the search- 
ing party. 

"Nor, sir, 't ain't no garret, jes' a loft ; but they 
ain't up there," said Lucy Ann's voice. 

"We '11 look for ourselves." They came out of 
the room. " Show us the way." 

Vol. XV.— 47. 

" Look here, if you tell us a lie, we '11 hang 
you ! " 

The voice of the officer was very stern. 

" I ain' gwine tell you no lie. Mister. What you 
reckon 1 wan' tell you lie for ? Dey ain' in the 

garret, I know, Mister, please don't p'int dem 

things at me. I 's 'feared o' dem things," said the 
girl in a slightly whimpering voice; "1 gwine 
show you." 

She came straight down the passage toward the 
recess where the fugitives were huddled, the men 
after her, their heavy steps echoing through the 
house. The boys were trembling violently. The 
light, as the searchers came nearer, fell on the 
wall, crept along it, until it lighted up the whole 
alcove. The boys held their breath. They could 
hear their hearts thumping. 

Lucy Ann stepped into the recess with her 
candle, and looked straight at them. 

" They ain't in here," she exclaimed, suddenly 
putting her hand up before the flame, as if to 
prevent it flaring, thus throwing the alcove once 
more into darkness. "The trap-door to the gar- 
ret 's 'roun' that a-way," she said to the soldiers, 
still keeping her position at the narrow entrance, 
as if to let them pass. When they had all passed, 
she followed them. 

The boys began to wriggle with delight, but the 
General's strong hand kept them still. 

Naturally, the search in the garret proved fruit- 
less, and the hiding-party heard the squad swear- 
ing over their ill-luck as they came back ; while 
Lucy Ann loudly lamented not having sent some 
one to follow the fugitives, and made a number 
of suggestions as to where they had gone, and the 
probability of catching them if the soldiers went 
at once in pursuit. 

"Did you look in here?" asked a soldier, ap- 
proaching the alcove. 

" Yes, sir; they ain't in there." She snuffed the 
candle out suddenly with her fingers. " Oh, oh ! 
— my light done gone out ! Mind ! Let me go in 
front and show you the way," she said ; and, 
pressing before, she once more led them along the 

" Mind yo' steps ; ken you see ? " she asked. 

They went downstairs, while Lucy Ann gave 
them minute directions as to how they might catch 
" Marse Hugh an' the Gen'l " at a certain place 
a half-mile from the house (an unoccupied quarter), 
which she carefully described. 

A further investigation ensued dovv'nstairs, but 
in a little while the searchers went out of the 
house. Their tone had changed since their dis- 
appointment, and loud threats floated up the dark 
stairway to the prisoners still crouching in the little 



In a few minutes the boys' Cousin Belle came 
rushing upstairs. 

" Now 's your time ! Come quick," she called ; 
" they will be back directly. Is n't she an angel ! " 
The whole party sprang to their feet, and ran 
down to the lower floor. 

" Oh, we were so frightened ! " " Don't let them 
see you." " Make haste," were the exclamations 
that greeted them as the two soldiers said their 
good-byes and prepared to leave the house. 

"Go out by the side-door; that 's your only 
chance. It 's pitch-dark, and the bushes will hide 
you. But where are you going?" 

"We are going to the boys' cave," said the 
General, buckling on his pistol ; " I know the way, 

(To l^e c 

and we '11 get away as soon as these fellows leave, 
if we can not before." 

"God bless you!" said the ladies, pushing 
them away in dread of the enemy's return. 

" Come on. General," called Hugh in an under- 
tone. The General was lagging behind a minute 
to say good-bye once more. He stopped suddenly 
and kissed Miss Belle before them all. 

" Good-bye. God bless you ! " and he followed 
Hugh out of the window into the darkness. The 
girl burst into tears and ran up to her room. 

A few seconds afterward the house was once 
more filled with the enemy, growling at their ill 
luck in having so narrowly missed the prize. 

" We '11 catch 'em yet," said the leader. 




By Charles Henry Webb. 

A RATHER ingenious gentleman named Darwin, 
of whom little folks may have heard, made up his 
mind, after a deal of thinking, that the first man 
was a monkey. Perhaps Mr. Darwin is right ; but 
one might be more sure about it, if a few family 
portraits had been handed down. Nevertheless, 
after going to see " Mr. Crowley," one is almost 
ready to admit that we are really descended from 
monkeys; also, that we can not begin trying to 
climb back to them any too soon. 

Mr. Crowley can do so many things that neither 
you nor I can do, and that we both would like to 
do, that I sometimes think it would be rather nice 
to be real monkeys ! 

To the little people of New York, most of whom 
know him by sight and have attended his garden- 
parties, if not his indoor receptions, Mr. Crowley 
needs no introduction. But to those who live else- 
where it may be well to say that Mr. Crowley is a 
monkey, a "Chimpanzee"; born of honest but 
hairy parents, in Africa, nearly four years ago, but 
now living in Central Park, New York. When he 
was very young his mother confided him to the care 
of the United States Minister-Resident at Liberia, 
with whom he lived as a member of the home cir- 
cle, acquiring courtly manners, until he was eight 
months old. Then he was brought to America. 
But in that early training and the excellent in- 
fluences by which he was surrounded in Liberia, 
we probably have an explanation of his good be- 
havior now, and of the readiness with which he 
takes to tracts, school-books, — or anything else 
he can easily master and tear to pieces. 

It may be that from " receiving" with his Min- 
ister-Resident friend, Mr. Crowley got into his 
habit of shaking hands. He puts out his great, 
hairy paw to every one who visits his cage, and 
if one does not respond at once to this hospi- 
table invitation to come in, he tries to pull the 
visitor through the bars, which, fortunately, are 
so near together that it is not necessary to become 
more intimate with his monkeyship than one 

It must not be thought that Mr. Crowley came 
to us with the highly respectable name he now 
bears; and we know how much he is respected 

from the fact that he never has been nicknamed. 
Although people speak of " Washington," "Cleve- 
land," etc., no one ever omits the "handle" of 
his name. He is always Mr. Crowley. 

And yet he is not dignified in his manner. So 
much of his time is spent in turning somersets, that 
his quarters, like those of one of England's great 
dukes, might be called " Somerset House." From 
his performances on the trapeze, one might think 
him. a member of Barnum's circus, or of the Yale 
or Harvard athletic club. At times he curls him- 
self up on the floor and howls with colic, like a 
child. Mr. Crowley has these stomach-aches so 
often that I sometimes think him very human, in- 
deed ; and if he were a small boy, I have no doubt 
he would use them many a time as an excuse for 
staying away from school. But it 's seldom that he 
can not eat when given anything good. This win- 
ter, when he had pneumonia, he lost his appetite 
entirely ; and it was touching to see the look of 
reproach he cast on a man who offered him some 
hot-house grapes. It was as though he said : " Is 
this really doing the fair and square thing by a 
sick monkey, — to offer him delicacies when he 
can't eat?" But he recovered from his sickness, 
and is now as well and wicked as ever. You will 
notice that monkeys are like children — the better 
they feel the worse they behave. Perhaps, by the 
way, Mr. Crowley owes his speedy recovery and 
present good health to his never refusing to take 
his medicine — from which children may learn a 
lesson. When it was brought to him he never 
complained, nor said he would n't take it. On 
the contrary, he took it at once — in his eager, 
outstretched hand — smelled of it with a sub- 
missive air, then threw it straight at the attendant 
who stood by with tear-stained face. It was con- 
fessed on all sides that medicine was seldom known 
to go so directly to the mark. 

One of the great comforts of Mr. Crowley's life, 
perhaps the main thing that reconciles him to 
being shut indoors when the weather is fine enough 
to play out, is piling up sawdust. After a long 
resting of his head on his hands, apparently in 
deep study, he suddenly jumps up as though a 
thought had struck him, retires to a corner of his 




cage, and there piles up sawdust with great pains 
and precision. I sometimes wonder if he fancies 
it money — is devoting himself to the pursuit of 
wealth ! Or does it take the place, to him, of 
school — and is he storing up algebra, grammar, 
conic sections, and dead and dry languages — to 
be all scattered and forgotten when next he turns 
round? Whatever may be the practical use of all 
this piling, it no doubt disciplines the mind, and 
so is a thing to be encouraged ! 

Mr. Crowley learns easily. Sometimes 1 think 
he might reach distinction as a cook — a " good 
plain cook," — but as a housemaid he is not a suc- 
cess. It occurred to his keeper (since sweep- 
ing Mr. Crowley's cage and keeping it clean 
was no little trouble) that Mr. Crowley might be 
trained to do this for himself. So a broom was 


brought and lessons were given in its use. But, at 
the end of a whole course, he still persisted in using 
the broom only on his keeper, — always taking 
hold of it by the wrong end. Another trait which 
he has in common with some children is that, when 
work of any kind is really going on, no one can 

induce him to take in it a more active part than 
sitting by and looking on. If there were thought 
of apprenticing him to a trade, I should say he 'd 
make a very fair plumber. 

Wonderful as is Mr. Crowley in most things, 
astonishing as are his feats on the flying trapeze, 
the chief attraction is to see him eat. Not that 
he eats so much, or so awkwardly; but because of 
the excellence of his table manners. Some are 
born to a knife and fork, others achieve knives 
and forks — but this monkey, you must remember, 
had a knife and fork thrust upon him. He cer- 
tainly was not born with a silver spoon in his 
mouth, nor with a napkin in his hand. I am not 
sure that even the missionaries and ministers-resi- 
dent of Liberia have such luxuries. Yet Mr. 
Crowley uses them all as though familiar with 
them from the cradle. I am 
a judge of table manners — 
having, in my time, dined at 
hotels, railroad restaurants, 
and other places where peo- 
ple eat in a hurry — and I 
greatly admire Mr. Crow- 
ley's. He cuts his food into 
pieces which are quite small 
(compared with the size of 
his mouth), takes his soup 
noiselessly, and never wipes 
his fingers on the table- 
cloth ! 

All this proves that there 
is nothing new under the 
sun. Oliver Goldsmith, who 
wrote the "Vicar of Wake- 
field," which you will read 
some day, also wrote a bigger 
book, called "Animated 
Nature." That was more 
than a hundred years ago, 
before roller-skates and tri- 
cycles were invented, before 
Stanley had penetrated into 
" '^^r the heart of Africa. Then, 

^j^'^ " even collections of postage- 

/^"•^'^ stamps were unknown, and 

there were no collectors — 
perhaps because in those 
days there were no postage- 
stamps. Now instead of ar- 
ranging his animals in groups 
under long Latin names, good Mr. Goldsmith 
divided them off into "Animals of the Cow Kind," 
"Animals of the Goat and Sheep Kind," "Ani- 
mals of the Monkey Kind," and animals of a great 
many other kinds. Among animals of the mon- 
key kind he describes what he calls " the ourang- 




outang, or wild man of the woods," and one of 
these in particular, mentioned by Buffon, seems 
to have been the Mr. Crowley of that day. " I 
have seen it," says Mr. Buffon, "give its hand 
to show the company to the 
door ; I have seen it sit at 
table, unfold its napkin, wipe > t'^ 
its lips, make use of the spoon ) o." 
and the fork to carry the vict- 
uals to its mouth ; pour out 
its wine into a glass, touch 
glasses when invited." 

Mr. Crowley, not long ago, 
seized his keeper and bit his 
arm. Now we animals of the 
human kind are often guided 
by what we call "taste," in- 
stead of by what we know to 
be right or wrong ; but this 
does not excuse Mr. Crowley. 
He should not have tasted of 
his keeper, even to find out 
whether or not he liked him. 
That is not the way in which 
a gentleman "takes a friend 
by the arm," and of this Mr. 
Crowley was made aware by 
a box on the ear which sent 
him howling into a corner, 
where he boo-hooed like a 
mortified child, and seemed 
to repent of his impoliteness. 
Speedy repentance usually 
comes with speedy punish- 
ment, and probably Mr. 
Crowley will never again at- 
tempt to " monkey" with so 
prompt a disciplinarian. 

Mr. Crowley is too much a 
monkey of the world to judge 
of persons or things by first 
sight. No — he judges by 
first smell. And on anything 
he can get to his nose he 
is ready to pronounce an 

opinion. If you gave him a story to read, he 'd 
smell it instead. This way of reading, let me re- 
mark, is not hard on one's eyes, and can be done 
in the dark. And when I think how quickly dry 
and improving articles — such as every one writes 
for children and no one reads — could be disposed 
of by Mr. Crowley's simple method, I find myself 
wishing that I had his nose. 

Another advantage of being Mr. Crowley, would 
be that one would have two pairs of hands to work 
with — I mean, to play with. For his feet are, in 
in fact, hands ; you might say that he took a thing 

"in foot" just as well as to say that he took it 
"in hand." If you passed under the pine-tree 
where he sat — perhaps busy with conic sections 
— he could snatch off your hat without reaching 


down his hands ; or he could take off his own hat 
to you without raising an arm. It is funny to see 
him haul on a rope — for one does not every day 
see a four-handed sailor — and I 'm sure, too, that 
he 'd be astonishingly handy to have on a farm. 
But I do hope he will never turn up as a pianist. 
Think how dreadful it would be if pianists could 
play a duet by themselves, as it were ! Why, 
there 'd be no comfort for anybody ! 

It is to be regretted that chimpanzees do not, 
like children, grow nicer as they grow older. But 
truth compels me to say that they do not. When 




young, they arc playful, frank, and confiding ; 
with age, they become morose, treacherous, and 
revengeful. Whether or not it is experience with 
the world which hardens their feelings I do not 
know ; but an old chimpanzee would be neither 
pleasant nor safe as a playfellow. For the matter 
of that, I 'd scarcely care to romp with Mr. Crowley 
even. The strength of these big monkeys is ter- 
rible. Though their arms look lean, they 're all 
muscle ; feel of Mr. Crovvley's (if you care to), and 

and throw stones when they fall out. Other ani- 
mals scratch, kick, or bite; but only monkeys, 
men, and boys take to clubs and stones. I 've 
already told you what Mr. Crowley does with his 
broom. I may add that, for want of streets in the 
heart of Africa, young monkeys can pelt each other 
only through the woods, which must be rather 

Sometimes I wonder how it would be if the 
tables were turned, and one of us were captured 

you '11 get a good idea of what whipcord and 
whalebone twisted together would be like. 

If animals of the monkey kind only went on 
growing sweeter and lovelier as they grew older, as 
do those of the human kind, it would not be so bad 
to have one for a grandpapa. But I 'd not care 
to have a miserable chimpanzee take me up in his 
arms, for there 's no saying in how many pieces 
he 'd put me down. 

One curious thing about these creatures, is that 
they alone, of all the inferior animals, use clubs 

by the chimpanzees. Would they put him in a 
cage and make a show of him ? Would they regret 
that he was so ignorant of their ways, and try to 
make him like one of themselves? Would they 
try to teach him to crack nuts with his teeth — 
and perhaps to scratch his ear with his right foot ? 
Would they consider him as belonging to a lower 
creation because, instead of being contented with 
what was around him and piling up the sawdust 
that lay ready to his hand, he kept reaching for 
what was not in sight, and insisted on trying to 




pile up pieces of green-backed paper that have 
not even pretty pictures on them — only portraits 
of presidents, and that sort of thing ? Would they 
think he wasted time in reading books and news- 
papers, when, so far as they saw, he could get at 
the best that was in the papers by only smelling 
them ? 

Mr. Goldsmith tells us that Buffon quotes Le 
Brasse (a great traveler of long ago) as saying 
that a negro boy was once captured by his "wild 

men of the woods " and carried off into the forests, 
and kept by them for a whole year. But the negro 
boy kept no diary, so we do not know what the 
chimpanzees did. Perhaps they only stood about 
his cage and studied him from the outside, and 
then went off and wrote articles about him, as I 
have done with this chimpanzee. But one good 
turn deserves another ; and if things keep on 
evolving, it may yet be my good luck to have a 
monkey for my biographer. 


By Eudora S. Bumstead. 

There once was a restless boy 
Who dwelt in a home by the sea. 
Where the water danced for joy 
And the wind was glad and free : 
But he said, " Good Mother, Oh ! let me go ; 
For the dullest place in the world, I know. 
Is this little brown house. 
This old brown house, 
Under the apple-tree. 

" I will travel east and west ; 
The loveliest homes I '11 see ; 
And when I have found the best. 
Dear mother, I '11 come for thee. 
I '11 come for thee in a year and a day. 
And joyfully then we '11 haste away 

From this little brown house, 
This old brown house. 
Under the apple-tree." 

So he traveled here and there, 
But never content was he. 
Though he saw in lands most fair 
The costliest homes there be. 
He something missed from the sea or sky, 
Till he turned again, with a wistful sigh. 
To the little brown house, 
The old brown house. 
Under the apple-tree. 

Then the mother saw and smiled, 
While her heart grew glad and free. 
" Hast thou chosen a home, my child ? 
Ah, where shall we dwell ? " quoth she. 
And he said, " Sweet Mother, from east to west. 
The loveliest home, and the dearest and best. 
Is a little brown house, 
An old brown house. 
Under an apple-tree." 


William H. Rideing. 

UTHORS are often said to belong to what 
they call in Latin the^w«« irritabile, 
or as we should say in English, "the 
irritable race." But those who find 
pleasure in reading will prefer to 
think of them as resembling that 
distracted gentleman in John Leech's 
picture, who appears, pen in hand, 
at his study door to protest, ever so 
gently, against the noise which his 
children are making in the hall and 
on the stairs. 

It is quite plain that he has been 
making frantic efforts to collect his 
thoughts, for an hour or more, — 
struggling, no doubt, to do the work 
which is to feed and clothe those 
boisterous young ones. He stands 
there in an attitude of despair, with 
the very mildest expression of pro- 
test on his face, saying, " Now, my 
dear children, my dear children, do 
be quiet ! " and when he withdraws 
after his remonstrance, as the artist 
leaves us to suppose that he does, let 
us hope that the children will take pity on him and go away into the garden. 

Irritable though they may be with others, authors are usually fond of children, and patient with 
them. For instance, the poet Campbell was a man of violent temper, but he was all tenderness 
and gentleness with young people. 

One day in the park he passed a child with a face so beautiful that it haunted him, and he longed 
to see it again. He sought and inquired, but in vain. Then he put an advertisement in the papers : 

"A gentleman, sixty-three years old, who, on Saturday last, between six and seven p. M., met a most interesting-looking child, but 
who forbears from respect for the lady who had her in hand, to ask the girl's name and abode, will be gratefully obliged to those who 
have the happiness of possessing the child, to be informed where she lives, and if he may be allowed to see her again." 

Now, Campbell had certain mischievous friends who decided to answer this advertisement, and 
not knowing what other address to give they picked out the last name in the London Directory. The 
next day the poet set out, expecting to see the lovely child. When he arrived at the house he was 
shown into the drawing-room. 

" Madam," he said to the lady he found there, "may I now be allowed to see your beautiful 

She looked at him v. ith astonishment and indignation for a moment, and then rang for the servant to 
show him to the door. 

One remembers the friendship of Prince Henry, the eldest son of King James the First, for Sir 
Walter Raleigh, who was a courtier, an explorer, and a man of science, as well as an author. 




Raleigh was confined in the Tower of London for 
fourteen years, and Prince Henry said : 

"No one but my father would keep such a bird 
in a cage." 

One recalls, also, the child-friendships of the 
French authors, Fenelon and Voltaire, as well as 
those of the great German author, Goethe. 

In the time of Queen Anne, there was a club in 
London to which belonged nearly all the famous au- 
thors of the town, and it was their custom every 
year to elect some reigning beauty as a "toast." 
One year they chose Lady Wortley Montagu, 
who was then only eight years old. She was sent 
for by her father, the Duke of Kingston, and the 
gentlemen fed her with sweets, kissed her, and 
wrote her name with the points of their diamonds 
upon their wineglasses. 
Late in life, when describ- 
ing her experience, she 
said : 

" Pleasure is too poor 
a word to express my sen- 
sations. They amounted 
to ecstasy. Never again 
throughout my whole life 
did I pass so happy an 

One is forced to think, 
however, that it would 
have been much better 
for so young a child had 
she been at home and in 

Nearly all of the great- 
est modern authors have 
left records of friendships 
with children. Coleridge 
used to call children King- 
dom of Heavenites, and a 
very celebrated critic has 
said, "A man, whatever 
his mental powers, can 
take delight in the society 
of a child, when a person 
of intellect far more 
matured, but inferior to 
his own, would be simply 

Going further back, we 
come to Oliver Goldsmith, 
who, himself a child in 

many ways all his life, had a true affection 

Goldsmith was one of the eight children of a 
poor clergyman in Ireland who found it more 
than he could do to provide for so large a family. 
The poverty his brothers and sisters knew, Oliver 

shared ; and, more than this, he had to endure 
the taunts of those who despised him for his 
homely face and dull mind. His face was pale 
and pock-marked, and they thought that he was 
a little blockhead because he could not learn his 
lessons just as other boys do. It was easy to im- 
pose upon him ; to tell him cock-and-bull stories, 
and then laugh at him for believing in them. He 
was so simple, so confiding, so easily deceived 
that they all thought he must be a fool ; and, 
shrinking from the ridicule they cast upon him, he 
grew shyer and more awkward as the conviction 
was forced upon him that their estimate of him 
was right. 

We know of only two occasions when he was 
stung into a defense of himself, and then he spoke 



so well that, had they cared for him, they would 
have seen that though he did not shine at school 
he was no dolt. 

" Well, sir, when do you intend to grow hand- 
some ? " said one of his relatives, who was not one 
of the best of men. 




" I mean to get better when you do, sir," the 
boy replied, with dignity. 

Then when he was dancing a hornpipe in the 
house of his uncle John, the person who was 
providing the music called him "Ugly ^sop." 
Quickly enough Oliver retorted: 

** Our herald hath proclaimed this saying. 
See ./Esop dancing and his monkey playing." 

Still, his schoolmaster labored with him, and his 

inn ; and, as a joke, was directed to the house of 
the Squire, where he called for supper and a room, 
treating the inmates as though they were servants. 
Not until he called for his reckoning the next 
morning did he learn that he was in a private 
house, and that the Squire, realizing the mistake, 
had taken pleasure in humoring him in it. Long 
afterwards he made this incident the motive of 
'• She Stoops to Conquer," one of the most de- 
lightful comedies ever written. 


schoolmates laughed at him ; and of all the boys 
in the village he was regarded as the least promis- 
ing. Whenever any one had a worthless toy to 
sell, Oliver Goldsmith would buy it; — that is, if 
he happened to have the money, which was not 
often. He was as simple in such matters as Moses 
Primrose, whose bargain in green spectacles may 
be read of in " The Vicar of Wakefield," and was 
always being cheated and deluded. 

Once, in his seventeenth year, he set out for a 
holiday with a guinea in his pocket, a most un- 
usual amount; and being detained, he found it 
necessary to spend the night in a village some 
distance from home. He inquired for the best 
house in the village, meaning, of course, the best 

Guineas and holidays were alike scarce, how- 
ever, and when he entered college it was as a 
"sizar," a name given to certain students who were 
educated for a reduced sum, in consideration of 
waiting at table and sweeping the halls. He had 
to wear a servant's badge, and to endure the jeers 
of those students who were more fortunate. 

He was now poorer than ever, for his father 
had died ; but he eked out the allowance his 
relatives made him, with the shillings he received 
for ballads written for the street-singers. His 
guardian angel had whispered to him, as Thackeray 
says, and he not only found in himself a gift for 
versification, but also a solace in exercising it. 
Night after night he would leave the college to 




hear his ditties sung, and then, meeting some 
beggar in the street — a shivering child or a crying 
woman — he would give away every penny he had, 
forgetting his own hunger, his scanty food, and 
the fireless room in which he had to work and 
sleep. No doubt many who had laughed at his 
sallow face and awkward manners would have said 
that he was still a fool ; and if it is folly to be 
generous and unable to see suffering without at- 
tempting to relieve it, he was a fool to the end of 
his days. 

After leaving college he looked for an opening 
in several professions. He thought he would 
become a clergyman, but the bishop would not 
have him, it is said, because he presented himself 
for ordination in a pair of red breeches ; he set 
out intending to study law in London, but was 
fleeced of his money in Dublin : he went to Edin- 
burgh and entered a medical school, but left 
without a diploma. 

Then he crossed the Channel, and traveled on 
foot through Holland, Germany, Switzerland, 
Italy, and France. He had little or no money, 
and poverty was his inseparable companion. He 
claimed the hospitality of convents and monas- 
teries ; and when these were not to be found he 
slept in barns, or, at a pinch, even under the 
hedges. In Italy there were universities in which 
on certain days various learned subjects were 
discussed, and any stranger who showed skill in 
debate was rewarded with a sum of money, a 
supper, and a night's lodging. Like a knight- 
errant of old. Goldsmith joined in these contests, 
and sometimes won the prizes. But his chief 
resource on his travels was a flute, which he played 
passably well ; and though fashionable city people 
may have found his performances " odious," the 
peasants before whose doors he lingered, and 
especially their children, were always willing to 
invite him in and give him food and shelter. 

After a year, he returned to England, having 
only a few half-pence in his pocket ; and going to 
London he attempted to practice as apothecary's 
clerk. From this a friend rescued him, and at- 
tempted to establish him as a physician — for one 
of the foreign universities had conferred a degree 
upon him — but patients were few and far between, 
and while at their bedsides he had to hold his hat 
to his breast to hide the hole in his coat. 

Another friend found a place for him as usher 
in a school ; but the boys made his life miserable, 
though he was kind to them and contributed to 
their entertainment with his flute, and by telling 
them the wonderful stories of which he had an 
endless supply. He spent most of his small salary 
in buying sweetmeats for them, and in relieving 
beggars, until at last the headmaster's wife had to 

ask him to let her take care of his money for 

One day when he was playing his flute, he 
paused to speak of the pleasure to be derived from 
a knowledge of music, and of how much it adds 
to the attractiveness of a gentleman in society. 

"But surely you do not consider yourself a 
gentleman ! " an ill-mannered and unfeeling boy 

Slights of this kind caused him to look back 
with intense pain to this period of life, though he 
had some warm friends among the scholars. 

Meeting one of them in the street, after he had 
become famous. Goldsmith walked forward to 
greet him. The scholar had reached manhood 
and his wife was by his side, but Goldsmith could 
think of him only as the schoolboy whom he used 
to treat. 

"I am delighted to see you, Sam," he cried. 
"Come, my boy, I must treat you to something. 
What shall it be? Apples?" saying which, he 
led the bewildered gentleman to an apple-woman 
standing at the corner, intending to cram him with 
fruit, as Goldsmith, then a celebrity, used to do 
when a poor usher. 

Ceasing to be an usher, he became the slave of 
a bookseller, writing essays, poems, and stories, to 
order. Though slighted at the time, these have 
since been recovered and placed among the treas- 
ures of English literature. A hard time he had 
of it, little better, indeed, than when he was a sizar 
at Trinity College, Dublin ; and experience had 
taught him no lesson in thrift which he cared to 
remember. Improvident still, he would give away 
his last penny though he needed it to appease his 
own hunger. 

" A night-cap decked his brows, instead of bay : 
A cap by night, a stocking all the d:iy. " 

He lodged in Green Arbor Court, a miserable 
house in a miserable neighborhood, and his clothes 
were so ragged that he could go out only in the night 
time. Often, when it seemed his head must split 
from the noise made by the scolding women and 
the romping children, he would go downstairs and 
quiet them by playing his flute ; and though his 
fellow-lodgers and neighbors were poor and unedu- 
cated, they all loved the unfortunate poet. 

One day a distinguished visitor came to see 
him, — no less a person than Thomas Percy, the 
Bishop of Dromore. Goldsmith sat at a table 
writing an "Enquiry into Polite Learning." (Just 
think of it, an "Enquiry into Polite Learning" 
amidst such surroundings !) The only furniture 
was a bed, a table, and the chair in which the 
poet sat. 

"While we were conversing," the Bishop has 



written, " some one gently tapped at the door, and 
being desired to come in, a poor ragged little girl 
of a very becoming demeanor entered the room, 
and, dropping a curtsy, said, ' My mamma sends 
her compliments, and begs the favor of you, to 
lend her a potful of coals.' ''' 

Goldsmith was always willing to lend — and to 


On another occasion the landlord of the same 
house was dragged to jail for debt, and his wife 
and children came to the poet begging that he 
would help them. He had no money. What 
could he do? Quite recently he had borrowed 

some money to buy a new suit of clothes, so that 
he might make a decent appearance in presenting 
himself for examination at a hospital, in which he 
hoped to get a situation. He bundled up the suit 
and took it to the pawnbroker's, returning with 
the money to relieve the distressed family. A 
week or so later, he himself was again on the 
verge of starvation. 

One more story of his goodness, 
and we shall be done. His genius 
was at last recognized, and he 
became one of the great men of 
London society. One day, when 
visiting at the house of Colman, 
the dramatist, he took his host's 
little son on his knee and began 
to play with him. The child did 
not like it, and slapped Gold- 
smith's face, for which he was car- 
ried off in disgrace and locked up 
in a dark room. He bawled and 
kicked for deliverance, believing, 
as he said in after years, that if 
nobody would pity him, some one 
might release him if only to abate 
a nuisance. 

By and by the door opened, and 
Goldsmith himself appeared, with 
his face still red from the slap. He 
at once began to caress the offender, 
who continued to sulk and pout. 
Then he brought three shillings out 
of his pocket and promised to show 
a trick, for which purpose he found 
three hats. 

" These shillings," he said, " are 
England, France, and Spain. Now, 
behold ! Hej', presto, cockalorum ! " 
The shillings, which had been dis- 
tributed, each under a different hat, 
were suddenly and in the most mys- 
terious way found all together under 
one hat. 

Ever after that, the boy and the 
poet were the fastest friends ; nor 
did the latter ever visit the Colman 
house that he was not entreated to 
play " Hey, cockalorum ! " 
It is well known that the works of Goldsmith 
are among the noblest in the English language : but 
there is one work for which children, especially, owe 
him a debt, since he is said to have written the 
wonderful story of " Goody Two-shoes." 


By Richard Malcolm Johnston. 

"'T is mighty rude to eat so much — but all 's so good." — Pope. 

A GOOD housekeeper was the widow Templin, 
a good mother, a good mistress, a good neigh- 
bor, — a good woman in general. Among her 
negroes was one who had risen into some distinc- 
tion in the family at quite an early age, and his 
name was Little Ike. From his middle upward, 
he was all that ought reasonably to be expected of 
a negro baby ; but his lower extremities were not 
satisfactory. His legs, for some reason, although 
not wanting either inform or longitude, were lack- 
ing in fleshy and muscular development. So that 
when he was as much as two years old, he had not 
learned to walk, nor even firmly stand alone. He 
was an excellent crawler, however, the vigor and 
agility of his arms compensating well for other 
deficiencies that might have obstructed or at 
least delayed locomotion. Altogether, he was a 
rather pronounced character for a person of his 
age and social position. This pronouncement pro- 
ceeded, for the most part, along the line of eating. 
He had early evinced a fondness, that in one so 
young might be characterized as almost remark- 
able, for eatables, or for whatever he took to be 
eatables, of every description that came within 
reach of his hands or within sight of his eyes. 
Those eyes had acquired the habit when not 
obscured by sleep, or the dark, of rolling them- 
selves around almost constantly in a way which led 
to the suspicion that they were in search of some- 
thing good. Those hands had learned, from an 
extremely early period in his career, to extend 
themselves in petitioning, and (I may as well con- 
fess), sometimes, indeed, in grabbing, often in 
stealing attitudes ; though, in fairness, I should 
add that, down to this date (or up to it, whichever 
is proper to say), they had never stolen anything 
except for the purpose or with intent to eat it, or 
to try to eat it. It never could be accounted for 
that he was so tardy in learning the use of speech, 
for he had a voice which might be called tremen- 
dous, when put forth to its best, as it often was 
while he was suffering from physical pain or more 
frequently from anger over a disappointment. In 
understanding, there was not a person, white or 
black, on the place who did not consider him fully 

the equal of any negro baby, there or elsewhere, 
within their acquaintance ; while some old people, 
as well as young, were boldly outspoken in the 
opinion that he was superior to them all. 

Upon development so irregular, Little Ike's 
"mammy" used much to speculate, and not in- 
frequently would she venture to indulge in pre- 
dictions as to results. 

" Dat boy" — she would say in the tone of a 
woman who feels that she knows what she is talk- 
ing about — "dat boy ain' no common chile, ner 
he ain' nuver be'n a common chile, not since he 
be'n borned." 

The nurse of Little Ike was his sister Till (a con- 
traction of Matilda), some seven or eight years 
older. Now, instead of the ardent natural affection 
which ought to exist between sister and brother. 
Till unfortunately felt great disregard for Little 
Ike, and she honestly believed that this was the 
most just and becoming feeling for her to indulge. 

Yet, after much study and reflection in the 
midst of a considerable number of unpleasant per- 
sonal experiences, she had evolved a theory of 
her own, in the soundness of which she had much 
faith. Having to carry her charge in her arms or 
upon her shoulders whenever a change of base 
was necessary or desirable, she was wont to move 
with such and only such degree of tender careful- 
ness as she supposed (often erroneously) would 
enable her to escape punishment for omissions in 
that line of duty. 

Till was whipped not only for her own mis- 
demeanors, but also for Little Ike's. If Little Ike, 
while in her charge, cried with violence, whether 
the cause was apparent or not, Till was punished 
for it. When his roguish hands were found to 
have in their grasp an item of contraband eatable 
property, down on Till's shoulders came the hickory 
or the peachy-tree switch. Consequently, after 
" toting " Ike until she had become much fatigued, 
she would set him on the ground, and address 
him after this manner : 

" Mammy and dem need n't talk t' me en say 
appetite de only marter wid you. It 's dat, but 
top o' dat it 's laziness, en on top o' dat it 's mean- 
ness, en wusser 'n dat. You too lazy t' larn t' 
walk en talk, en you dat mean you des' natily love 
t' have me lose my bref en break myself down a- 





totin' you all over queation ; en den see mammy greedy. En I tell you now," she would add, lift- 
a-layin de peachy-tree on me fer your meanness, ing her finger in solemn warning, "If you don' 
Dat time you bit me, case I tuck out your han' dat min', de Bad Man '11 git you fo' you knows it." 

green apple you stole out o' my pocket, you hoi- Her reminder of the mirth in which he had in- 

ler'd, you did, en soon 's mammy came at me dulged on the occasion referred to was just, and to 

wid de peachy-tree, you hushed, you did, en you a degree excusable was her resentment therefor, 

went to laughin'. Can' fool me 'bout you, boy; For while in general the sportive element in Little 

you des' es lazy en you des' es mean as you is Ike's being appeared to have taken on almost no 



development, yet he always seemed to feel the 
highest satisfaction when Till was being whipped, 
and evinced it sometimes by laughing aloud. 

After setting him down, on such occasions, she 
would give him something to gnaw; and, through- 
out such space as she thought she might com- 
mand, seek whatever amusements were to be had 
therein. A cry from Little Ike, or a warning call 
from her mammy, would make her hasten to the 
central point of duty. Mrs. Templin had often 
chided the mother for her indiscriminate inflictions 
upon Till, and many a time they had been pre- 
vented or lessened through her interference. 

number of pebbles, from which she often selected 
sets for a game called "checks," of which girls of 
both races were fond. Growing tired of this sport 
after some time, she thought she might scale the 
garden-fence and make a brief expedition to the 
strawberry-bed, whose fruit had just begun to take 
on an appetizing redness. Little Ike showed, by 
several unmistakable signs, his unwillingness to 
be left alone ; but, after one cry, he was reduced 
to silence in a way wliich, if the suspicions against 
Till were well founded, might be regarded as at 
least novel and rather remarkable. Not more 
than a few dozens of the young fruit had been 



Great as was Little Ike's voracity, even his 
mammy, who claimed to know him best, believed 
that she had found, one day, that its vastness had 
been underrated. The incident I am about to relate 
was more than sufficient, not only to alarm a parent, 
but to excite compassion in any person at all capa- 
ble of sympathy with the sufferings of humanity. 

After dinner, Till lifted Ike up, and took him 
out for a limited excursion about the yard. In 
a corner of the yard was a small thicket of 
plum-trees and cherry-trees, in the shade of which 
Till used often to rest with her charge, seated on 
a couple of boards. She had piled there quite a 

pulled and consumed, when the mother called 
loudly to her from the kitchen. Till ran back in 
such haste that, in rccrossing the fence, she fell 
sprawling, and did not answer the oft-repeated 
calls until she had risen from the ground, when 
she was seen by her mammy, who, breathing and 
uttering fiercest threatenings, ran to the thicket. 
To her horror, there sat Little Ike, swaying his 
body, kicking with utmost possible earnestness 
and activity, moving up and dow^n both hands, 
filled with pebbles ; while from his mouth pro- 
truded a stone of such magnitude that no adult, 
to say nothing of a baby, could have swallowed it. 



Mrs. Templin, in answer to the mother's frantic 
screams, soon reached the scene. Lifting Little 
Ike from the ground, she repaired with all speed 
to the house, followed closely by the mother, and 
by the sister from afar. Mrs. Templin sat down 
on a front step, the mother and Till on either side. 

" T'ank goodness!" said the mother. " Dat 
rock wuz too big for him to swaller ! " 

On its withdrawal, which was not effected with- 
out some difficulty, Little Ike repressed the scream 
he had first thought to utter, and slyly putting forth 
his hand he slid it into his sister's pocket, drew 
therefrom a half-ripe strawberry, and before he 
could be arrested, had plunged it into his mouth. 
Mrs. Templin laughed aloud. 

"Well, ef dat don' beat ! Dat gal wan' to leave 
dat boy, en go atter dem strawbays ; en, ter keep 
dat boy from holl'in', she qwam dat big rock in 
he mouf ; en ef dey is peachy-trees 'nough in de 
orchid " 

(To be c 

"No, ma'am, mammy, no ma'am," began Till, 
" I xlar " 

"Stop, Till," said her mistress, "or you are 
certain to make matters worse. Take the child 
and go back to your play, and try to mind better 
what you do. You might have injured the poor 
little fellow, and he your own brother at that." 

" Mist'ess," said the woman in a tone of remon- 
strance that was almost piteous, " you ain' gwine 
let dat huzzy off dat way, showly, — is you ? Nuver 
you min' ! " she called after Till, who was hurriedly 
making off, "I '11 git you. You 'pen' on it. 1 '11 
git you ! " 

"No, Judy, you are not to whip her for that. 
We 've all been too badly scared to feel anything 
but thankful. Go back to the kitchen, and try to 
be thankful instead of being so angry," said Mrs. 
Templin. And Judy went her way, muttering, 
" Bes' mist'ess a-livin' — but she alluz luiiz too 
easy wid dat gal." 



The games for the day were over in Lyons. 
The vast throng had left the circus ; the victors in 
the fight had gone to their quarters, and the wide 
arena was left to the workers whose duty it was to 
prepare the ground for the next day's games. 

Old Bulbus, the master of the gladiators, lounged 
at his ease upon the broad bear-skin covered bench 
in the house of the prefect ; and, stretched upon 
the mosaic floor at his feet, each with chin on 
hand, lay the prefect's two children, Antonius and 

Sturdy and healthy-looking, as became those 
outdoor-reared children of old France, this boy 
and girl of the splendid capital city of Roman 
Gaul showed in their flushed faces and sparkling 
eyes that the excitement of the day's sports had 
not yet fully passed away. 

And it had been exciting. For grim old Bulbus, 
seeking for novelty, had flooded the big amphi- 
theater with water from the river Saone, near at 
hand, and transformed the sawdust arena into a 
Vol. XV.— 48. 7 


miniature lake. And here, for the pleasure of the 
city's visitor, the great Emperor Hadrian, and for 
the thousands of spectators, he had displayed a 
naiunac/iia, or sea-fight, a sight vastly different 
from the conflicts between beasts and men usually 
shown in the games. 

It had been a gorgeous display. Barges and 
galleys, richly gilded and crowded with gladiators, 
had met in deadly struggle ; and all the crash and 
terror of an old-time sea-fight had been presented 
before the eyes of the eager and delighted spec- 

No wonder that Hadrian, the emperor, pleased 
with the novelty of the display, had sent to the 
master, as his reward, a cup of solid silver, shaped 
to the form of a galley and well filled with glitter- 
ing dc?iarii ; and no wonder, too, that the children 
of the prefect lay thus, almost in reverence, at the 
feet of the master, drinking in his every word, and 
worshiping his greatness even as docs the boy of 
to-day the mighty captain of a "baseball nine." 




For then, even as now, the athletic champion or 
the leader of champions often seemed to receive 
more deference and marks of honor than poet or 
philosopher, senator or statesman ! 

"A brave display, say you ? Well, little ones, 
perhaps it seemed so to you," said old Bulbus, 
smiling down into the two admiring and upturned 
faces. " But it was as nothing to a real sea-fight, 
mark you that."' 

" And you have been in just such real sea-fights, 
good Bulbus? " demanded Antonius. 

"Many a time," replied the master. "When 
scarce your age I pulled an oar on the thalamite 
bench in the war-galleys of Vespasian, the emperor ; 
and man and boy for fifty years have I lived in 
Roman galleys. 'T is a rare remembrance ? Yes — 
but may the gods spare you. Little Prefect, from 
ever knowing a life such as mine has been." 

" Nay, but tell us about it, good Bulbus," 
pleaded both his young listeners. 

"Can I press fifty years of adventure into half 
that number of minutes, O insatiate ones ? " laughed 
the master. " Nay, let me rather tell you now 
only of our trireme, the 'Victory' — the stanch- 
est craft in all the war-fleets of Caesar. Then may 
you gather from that some notion of a fighting- 
man's home on the dancing blue water of our 
Middle Sea." 

The eyes of the children flashed their approval 
of this proposition, and old Bulbus went on : 

" Inland-bred as you are, O children of the pre- 
fect," he said, "you must not judge of real sea- 
fighting from this mimic display that I did ar- 
range for our lord, the emperor, to-day. I could 
tell you of war-ships that would make your eyes 
grow big and yet bigger with wonder. Our gal- 
leys take their names, you know, from the tiers or 
banks of rowers which each one holds, — the two- 
bank, three-bank, five-bank, eight-bank,* and so 
on, up to sixteen banks, and even, so I have 
heard, to forty banks of rowers, f But these big 
boats went their way long ago ; smaller ones are 
better for close fighting and quick turning, and we 
call all qur best fighting-ships, nowadays, triremes, 
whether they have three banks of rowers, or less 
or more. Our trireme the ' Victory ' had, beneath 
her deck, benches for full nine-score rowers, in 
three tiers or banks. On the lowest bank, fifty- 
six rowers or thalamites j on the middle bank, sixty 
rowers or zygitcs j and on the upper bank, sixty- 
four rowers or thranites." 

" And these rowers, good Bulbus. how do they 
live between the decks ? " asked Antonius. 

" Live, say you. Little Prefect? Faith, they die 

oftcner," replied Bulbus. " For six and twenty 
years did I serve as a rower, to gain my freedom 
and my citizenship ; but, ah, how many of my com- 
rades at the oar have I seen drop and die at their 
work ! But there is one pride that the rower has, 
slave though he be. He knows that but for his 
labor the trireme would be of little use. Stout 
masts it may have, and sails and overmuch sea- 
geai, but none of these can help it on without the 
nine-score stout rowing-men that bend and pull 
to the measure of the pipcman's whistle." 

"And were you not crowded there, good 
Bulbus ? " Sabina, the sympathetic, inquired. 

"Crowded! You say well, maiden," replied 
the master. " May you never know such dearth 
of breathing room. There was never a space for 
one man more, between the decks, when all the 
rowers were in place, cramped upon the benches, 
scarce three feet apart. Each bench but nine 
inches wide, and each man pulling a long and 
heavy oar, — whether one were thalamite^ zygitc, 
or thranitc, it was weary, dreary work, little ones, 
such as made a man sigh for freedom and long for 

"But how about the fighting-men, good 
Bulbus ? " asked Antonius, to whom the rower's 
toilsome life offered little attraction. 

"Ah, there was less of slave work, but scarcely 
more of freedom, boy," the master answered; 
"we, who were fighting-men, — for, after my six 
and twenty years of service at the oar, nearly that 
same space did I serve as a 'marine,' or fighting- 
man, — were ranged along the cancelli, or narrow 
galleries above the rowers of the upper bank, and 
our war shields hung over the trireme's side, ready 
for instant service, or as a defense against darts. 
Look now, I will give you our trireme, the ' Vic- 
tory,' ready for the sea." J And taking the ever- 
ready tablets from Sabina, the old man proceeded 
to sketch for the children his favorite man-o'-war. 

" See," he said ; " thus her bow curved upward 
to the figure-head. Below here, ran out the 
sharp and ponderous beak, bearing upon it the 
dolphin's head. Ah, how that beak could crash 
its way through the stoutest oaken sides of any 
hostile craft that dared withstand or could not 
shun the shock ! Astern, as you shall see, rose 
the deck-house, just behind the two great oars 
that steered the trireme. Within this sat the cap- 
tain, and here, too, the steersman moved the 
great steering-oars at will by means of ropes run- 
ning over well-greased wheels and fastened to the 
great oars. Not many of the triremes are rigged 
with masts and sails, but our ' Victory ' had three 

* Bireme, trireme, qiiinqucreme, octireme, etc. 

tThe iesseraconteres, or forty-banked vessel of Ptolemy Philopator was 420 feet long; its gre.-itest beam was 76 feet, and its burden 
over IT, 000 tons — as large as an ocean steamer of to-day. It had over 4000 rowers, and a total crew of 7500 men. 
X The usual size of the trireme was 149 feet long, 18 feet breadth of beam, and 232 tons burden. 




stout masts, each topped by a lookout station, 
and four full sails ; three were square, and the 
hinder one was of a shifting, three-cornered cut. 
At the ends of each yard were the heavy grap- 
pling-irons, and there, too, hung often the pon- 
derous dolphins' heads, which we could drop at 
will whenever a hostile galley ranged alongside. 
Sometimes, also, we reared on the ' Victory's ' 
deck, high movable towers from which our fight- 
ing-men could send their showers of darts and 
arrows upon the foe ; while, always, near the 
bows swung the heavy boarding-bridge, quickly 
lowered by its chains, and across which our 
marines would swarm to the fight upon the deck 
of the enemy's galley. 

" So : there we are, you see, under full sail, 
with pennons flying and standards reared astern ; 
our sharp beak cutting through the tossing waves ; 
shields hung over the rail ready for instant use, 
and our three banks of oars pulling through the 
billows in quick and regular measure to the pipe- 
man's whistle. Ah, little ones, it was a sight to 
make young eyes sparkle, — aye, and old ones, 
too, — to look upon the ' Victory ' fully manned and 
bounding over the sea, ready to scatter the pirates 
of the East or to punish the enemies of Rome." 

" Oh, Bulbus, would that I might see her ! " 
The boy's breath came fast, and his eyes kindled 
with enthusiasm as he followed the old sea-fighter's 
words, and even little Sabina showed her interest 
in the picture by her eager and attentive look. 

" Aye, but it is a hard and cruel life, Little Pre- 
fect," said Bulbus, handing back the tablets to Sa- 
bina. " And I, who have tried it well for more 
than fifty years, would far rather train the gladiators 
in this our circus of Lyons than risk the danger 
and the trials of close quarters and furious tem- 
pests, hard knocks and little pay, on the best tri- 
reme the emperor has afloat. Come, let us seek 
your noble father, the prefect, and talk over the 
programme for to-morrow's games. I will turn the 
lake into a forest, boy, and show my Numidian 
fighters in a monster lion-hunt." 

So Sabina and Bulbus hurried off. But young 
Antonius, taking the tablets from his sister, still 
sat studying the rude outlines of the " Victory." 
And, as he looked, he seemed almost to feel the 
sea-breeze and sniff the salt air of the Middle Sea, 
as he closed in fight with some hostile trireme, and 
dashed boldly across the lowered boarding-bridge 
as became a valiant sea-fighter in the navies of 
the Roman Empire. 

By Lucy G. Morse. 

At Bluffanuff there are eight summer cottages 
and a hotel, within a stone's-throvv of one another. 
The owners are all friends, and their young peo- 
ple have royal times together. There is also a 
ninth house, smaller and by itself, back among the 
pine-trees which grow all over the point. 

There is nothing of which young people are more 
intolerant than peculiarity of dress; and because 
Miss Mifflin, the owner of the little cottage, wore 
scant, old-fashioned gowns, mitts, and a Shaker 
bonnet, they decided that she was a most objec- 
tionable reformer, and would lecture in the hotel 
dining-room on " all the missions a-going," if she 
were in the least encouraged. 

Poor thing ! she was the most timid little old 

lady in the world, who performed a great many 
missions without saying a word to anybody about 
one of them. Her nephew and niece, Russell and 
Margaret Mifflin, called her " Aunt Phoebe " ; but 
Ned Hooper nicknamed her " y\.unt Iquity." He 
was such a popular fellow that he could set any 
fashion he pleased ; and so it came about that 
Margaret's gowns, which were made a good deal 
like her aunt's, were called " Mifflin Relics," she 
was known as "Miss Moffit," and Russell went 
by the names "Patches," "Simple Simon," and 

Margaret was sixteen, and she knew every one 
of those nicknames by heart. She thought they 
fitted remarkably well, too; — that was why she 


THE bell-buoy's STORY. 


cried about them in her favorite resting-place by 
the cedar bushes where Russell found her one day, 
and thought he made her confess everything. But 
she owned up only to the " Mifflin Relics," which 
really she did not mind a bit. 

"Well now, Peggy, I call that rather compli- 
mentary," said Russell, " for it implies, at least, 
that they are worth preserving. So, cheer up, 
'Relic,' and let me read you something, — may 1 ? 
I want a ' pome ' savagely criticised, and you 're 
in just the mood." 

" O Russell !" cried Margaret, springing to her 
feet, " wait till I get my stocking-basket, and we '11 
have a lovely time right here ! " 

She was anything but a critic, for she thought 
her brother's poetry perfect, and always told him 
so. It did no harm, though, — he suffered plenty 
of ridicule to balance her praise. 

For the next hour, the two were in a happy little 
world of their own, and the cedar bushes were a 

"You are sure to be a great poet," said Mar- 
garet, pricking her long needle through one of his 
stockings with eager, nervous stitches, as if she 
was, at that very minute, herself weaving golden 
fame for him. " You need n't keep saying that it 
never will be, for it is in you, and the world lias 
got to find it out. And even without college (but 
/ believe you '11 get there, you know), you '11 write 
such books as will make people proud of — of being 
your countrymen ! " 

"Ah no, little Peggy ! " sighed Russell; " that is 
an impossible dream of yours. I must work for bread 
and butter, not for fame. " 

"I 'm to be taken into 
partnership in all your 
bread-and-butter plans, 
— don't forget that," said 
Margaret, stoutly. " We 
are going to live like Tom 
Pinch and his sister, and 
have a triangular parlor. 
I wonder where Dickens 
ever saw a room of that 
shape ? I don't know 
how we can get one, un- 
less we partition an ordi- 
nary room across, 'eater- 
corner.' But no matter, we '11 have it. You are 
to go to college, — you are fitted for it now, you 
know you are, — and you can get scholarships and 
things, and fellows to coach. I heard Mrs. Hard- 
ing tell somebody that Brent (I think that 's his 
name) had lots of conditions, and would have to 
be coached all through college. So I 'm going to 
take care of Aunt Phoebe until you graduate with 
tremendous honors, and then we '11 have the three- 

cornered parlor and I shall make a beefsteak- 
pudding while you write poetry ! " 

"Yes," said Russell, looking up at her over his 
folded arms from the grass where he was lying, 
" if we begin in that way, it won't be long before 
you '11 be taking in washing to support the family 
— that 's the sort of thing women do. No, Meg, 
poetry is n't going to win either beefsteak-pudding 
or fame for you and me. Neither shall 1 ever see 
college. But, if I could — I tell you, Peggy — " 
Russell sat up and clenched his fist hard — " if I 
could go to Harvard College — well, with the 
education I could get there I 'd be ready to fight 
the world." 

A crackling of dry twigs close by made him 
stop ; and both were quite still until whoever was 
passing by was out of hearing. Then they went 
back to the house. 

The young people who chose to make game of 
Russell and Margaret and their Aunt Phoebe were 
not ill-natured ; they were only thoughtless. 

Ned Hooper, Jo Anderson, Brent Harding, and 
Will Burt were all going to Harvard in the fall. 
They had passed their examinations well — all but 
happy-go-lucky Brent, — and what did he care for 
conditions? He was "going to work 'em all off in 
no time ! " Brent was a brilliant fellow, and could 
do things so easily that they never were done. He 
had been " going to " all his life. 

Russell was the only boy in the colony who had 
no opportunity of going to college, and the only 
one whose heart ached pitifully for the privilege. 

Ned Hooper had overheard his speech to Mar- 



garet about going to Harvard, that morning 
the cedar bushes, and had made great fun of it. 

The idea of Russell's lank, ungainly figure at 
Harvard seemed very funny to him, and he drew a 
caricature of Russell crossing the college yard, 
while a crowd of students were looking at him 
through opera-glasses. Russell found it on the 
beach, where it had been carelessly flung away, 
but nobody ever knew he saw it, for he could keep 


THE bell-buoy's STORY. 


that kind of a secret as well as Margaret. Only, 
he avoided people rather more after that, and the 
boys added "Mopes" and "Moonshine" to his 
other nicknames. 

One afternoon, Ned and his sister made up a 
sailing party and, under protest, invited Ned Rus- 
sell and Margaret. 

" Rusty won't do anything but moon, and his 
little brown Peggy of a sister '11 be as stupid as an 
oyster ! " Ned growled, but his mother — it was all 
her doing — insisted. 

Russell did moon at the bows, and the brown 
Peggy was as quiet as an oyster for about an hour, 
while they sailed in the crisp, cool air ; the girls 
taking turns at the tiller, and imagining they were 
learning to steer, and all making merry with their 
chatter-chatter, as young folks in a boat are sure 
to do. 

"Sing! — sing, somebody! Do!" cried irre- 
pressible Tessa Harding. " I 'm so happy, I shall 
die if some one does n't express it for me ! " 

But they were decidedly not a musical set. They 
started a few common airs, but nobody knew the 
words. In a few bars the song was sure to be 
spoiled, and when the " Yo, ho!" chorus of 
" Nancy Lee " died in a woful discord, Tessa 
stopped her ears and cried again, " Oh, stop ! 
That does n't express my feelings — I 'm not raging 
mad ! " 

" It 's pretty bad, Tessa, we admit," said Jo An- 
derson ; " but reflect that we did it to save your 
life — you said you should die, you know." 

"Well, I shall yet, if you do that any more," 
she said, laughing. 

" It 's hopeless," said Rose Hooper ; " if there 
was any one who could lead, there are some of 
us who could follow very well." 

Hark! Suddenly the notes of "Nancy Lee" 
rang out, clear, beautiful, and true. Everybody 
stood or sat motionless until the verse was finished. 
Russell, still in the bows, had started at the first 
note and turned to meet the great, frightened 
eyes of Margaret as she looked into his face and 

The verse ended. She hung her head and shrank 
behind Mrs. Hooper's protecting shoulder. But 
there was a protest from everybody, and the rest of 
the song was demanded. So little Peggy came 
timidly " out of her shell," and led the singing 
bravely. By and by they drifted into college 
songs, and then the very spirit of joy seemed to 
possess the party. 

It was a happy sail. When it was over. Captain 
Hull declared that he had never "seen a line of 
brighter, handsomer faces file along the old pier, 
and " — he confided to Mrs. Hooper, as he helped 
her to land — " it 'd take a sailor with a mighty 

stiff crust on, not to feel cheerfuller after being 
with a crowd like that ! " 

" There was only one sour one among 'em," he 
added, "and they put him up in the bows for a 
scarecrow, so nobody but the gulls knew he was 
there ! " 

" Never call an apple sour till you have tasted 
it, Captain," said Mrs. Hooper, brightly. " I 
heard somebody call that little nightingale who 
has been singing so sweetly for us, as quiet and 
' stupid as an oyster ' ; perhaps her brother could 
surprise us too, if he chose." 

It was no wonder the captain thought Russell 
was sour. Those college songs had been too much 
for him, and the moment the boat touched the pier 
he had sprung ashore and rushed hurriedly away, 
with his hat pulled low over his eyes. 

The next afternoon the young folks were gathered 
on the cliff with work or sketching materials, when 
Jo came up, holding a little book above his head 
and shouting, " A prize ! A prize ! See what we 
found in the boat last night ! " It was Russell's 
note-book, which he had dropped. 

" Oh, what fun ! Now we '11 find out what 
' Mopes's moonshine ' is," cried Will Burt ; and the 
rest, taking up the cry, demanded "moonshine" 

"Oh, Rusty! Rusty! I fear this will prove an 
unhappy hour for you, my son ! " said Jo, pretend- 
ing to wipe away a tear, as he mounted an old 

"I have the honor, ladies and gentlemen," he 
continued, "of reading to you some rare speci- 
mens of — ahem! — poetry — written by our dis- 
tinguished Harvard aspirant, Mr. Rusty Fusty 
Moonshine. But first I wish to offer a resolution. 
Miss Chairman — Nelly, you are in the chair, 
understand — Miss Chairman, ladies and gentle- 
men, I move that we show the poet our apprecia- 
tion of his genius by quotations which it shall be 
our object to make familiar to his ear " 

" Both ears — to both ears! Moved-seconded- 
and-carried-it-is-a-vote ! " shouted Ned. " Fire 
away, Jo ! " 

" Listen, absorb and commit to memory, then ! " 
said Jo, and with much mock solemnity he read : 


" ' Swing, swing, with thy ponderous tongue ! 
Thy bellmen are billows that long have swung 

The great, iron hammer. 
Blow on blow from the Bell-buoy rings. 
And forth on the darkness of midnight flings 

The hollow, wild clamor.' " 

But the effect of Jo's reading was unexpected. 
TIic listeners could see nothing to ridicule in that. 


THE bell-buoy's STORY. 


"'Thy bellmen are billows,'" repeated Rose, 
who had a fondness for poetry and, unknown to 
any one, a little note-book of her own. "That 
is n't bad at all. Jo, read it again, seriously, and 
stop your nonsense ! " 

Jo put his handkerchief in his pocket and read 
the verse once more, and, this time, pretty well. 
"I don't call that a bit ridiculous; / think it is 
pretty," said Rose. 

"I say, fellows I " said Ned, " Rusty 's got a 
champion ! " 

" Call me another, then; for I think it 's pretty, 
too," said Nelly Harding, nestling, girl-fashion, up 
to Rose. 

"Hurrah for Rusty!" cried Ned. "Look to 
your colors, boys. If the girls are going over to 
'Simple Simon' we'll have to follow, whether 
or no." 

"Come ! " said Rose, bristling a little, "that 's 
a name you '11 have to drop anyhow. No simple- 
ton ever wrote those lines. Let 's be fair now. 
Begin again, and read the whole poem beauti- 
fully, — you know you can, Jo, — and, instead of 
trying to amuse, try to charm us with it, and we '11 
give our honest opinion, without a bit of humbug." 

There was a general assent while Jo stepped 
down from his perch, threw himself on the grass, 
read the verse once more, and continued : 

" ' The sailor listens ; and as he hears 

He springs to the tiller ; — the tall ship rears. 

And stands for the ocean. 
And, long out of sight in the darkness gone. 
He hears the strong bellmen still ringing on 

With solemn motion. 

" ' Thanks, good bell, for thy strange wild peal! 
The wife, far off, and the children, kneel 

And pray that the tolling 
May never fail the brave father who sails, 
When he feels on his breast the foam of the 

And hears the sea rolling.' " 

Jo finished and said, in a tone of surprise, " I 
say, fellows ! " and the others said also to one 
another : " I say ! " 

There was a moment of silence. Then " Rusty 
is n't such a fool, after all ! " said Will. " Read 
some more." 

Jo read page after page. The boys listened and 
were delighted. They wanted to make up for their 
injustice, and so, naturally, their praise grew extrav- 
agant. The result was an overwlielming triumph 
for Russell. 

The reading ended, Jo put the book into the 
pocket of his boating-shirt, gave a slap on the out- 
side, and, rising, said : 

" Miss Chairman, ladies and gentlemen, I with- 
draw the motion made by me at the opening of 
this session, and respectfully submit the following 
in its stead : ^Resolved, That Rusty is a trump.' " 

"Hear, hear! Second the motion!" cried the 
bo)'s, and Ned Hooper raised his cap in the air, 
and cried ; 

"Moved and seconded that old Rusty Mifflin 
is a trump ! Those in favor, signify by three 
cheers " 

The cheers interrupted him. 

"Contrary-minded don't signify; it is a vote," 
cried Ned; "and I 've got another resolution to 
offer — namely — ^Resolved: That we have been 
rather mean scamps generally, and that we '11 

make it up to him, if ' " But nobody could hear 

any more because of the clamor of assent. After 
a little more talk of the same kind, the boys went 
to find Russell, and to return the book to him. 
But he was not to be found, and, after making 
three calls upon Margaret in the course of the 
evening, they decided to wait until the next day. 

" It 's very queer nobody ever noticed before," 
Ned remarked confidentially to Jo, " how well the 
' Mifflin Relics ' suit that little Peggy. She looks 
like a picture, with her bonnet off." 

The next morning was cloudy, and the boys 
were surprised when they went in search of Rus- 
sell to learn that he had gone away in his boat. 
If heand Margaret could have seen all that Harvard 
set, and heard his name repeated among them that 
day, the brother and sister would have been much 
surprised. The bantering tones had ceased, and 
nothing was heard excepting such questions and 
remarks as : " Has n't Rusty turned up yet ? " and 
" If we had known what he was made of, we 'd 
have invented different names," " I say, drop that, 
and let 's call the old fellow Russell," and similar 
suggestions. And Brent Harding had collected 
his books, had a long talk with his mother, and 
was again " going to," this time in real earnest, if 
he could try it with " Rusty." 

The day wore on, and the clouds grew heavier. 
Ned questioned the skippers, who predicted a 
storm before morning; but, slow to take alarm, 
said only, of Russell: "Oh, he 's somewhere or 
other. He '11 turn up ! " 

Perhaps, a week before, the boys would have 
thought so, too ; but they were troubled now. At 
last they found poor Peggy at the end of the long 
pier, bareheaded, holding her hair back from her 
face, and looking anxiously over the water. When 
they spoke to her, she burst into tears. There 
was not one among them who could stand that; 
and in less than half an hour the " Yano," the 
strongest boat in the harbor, with two skippers 


THE bell-buoy's STORY. 




and Ned and Jo on board, started out in search 
of Russell. 

Drearily they plowed their way through the 
gathering mist for nearly two hours. The wind 
blew harder, and the white caps steadily increased. 
Now and then they blew a horn, and listened for 
some answering sound until their hearts ached. 

The skippers took in reefs, and it soon became 
hard for them to manage the boat. They were 
about to go back, in the hope that Russell had re- 
turned, when Ned spied something floating on the 
water. Now it was hidden under a wave, now it 
was riding through a hollow between the caps. 
Again, it was sent close to the boat's side. The 

'drearily they plowed their way THROUGH THE GATHERING MIST FOE NEARLY TWO HOURS." 


THE bell-buoy's STORY. 


boys' faces paled when they caught it at last, and 
found it to be the oar of a boat with a colored 
handkerchief tied to it. " It 's the very bandanna 
we 've made such game of, Ned," said Jo. Ned 
wrung it out, and fastened it in his belt, but said 
not a word. 

Time after time, as they tacked, the wind blew 

the sound of the 

to-night ! " said Captain Hull, as they steered the 
boat backwards and forwards, away and around 
again, as near as possible to the buoy. 

The other skipper had not spoken since they 
had found the handkerchief. 

"It 's no use staying here any longer, — steer 
away from that bell, for heaven's sake ! " cried 
Ned at last. "It sounds like a ghastly funeral, 
and I can't stand it another " 

" Hark !" roared out Captain Grigg, and Ned 
stopped with the word on his lips. All were silent 
for a moment, but heard only the dash of waves, 
the wind, which was beginning to roar, and the 
bell steadily clanging its dismal notes. 

"He 's right: steer away from it, — it sounds 
like death ! " said Captain Hull, as a peal, louder 
than all the rest, sounded close by, and Captain 
Grigg veered the vessel away from the rocks, which 
were dangerously near. 

"Death?" roared Captain Grigg. "It's life, 
I tell ye ! — Hark ! " 

Every eye glared at him, and every ear was 
strained with listening. 

"No use now," he said, "the wind makes too- 
much racket, and it drives so. Wait for another 
tack." One more curve, out and back, and then 
they listened again, all intent for a moment or 

"There ain't a sound in the universe except 
that doom-o'-judgment bell ! " said Captain Hull. 

" And it 's the old bell that can't beat a grain o' 
human sense into ye, Cephas Hull ! " said Captain 

Grigg. "Listen to fkaf, and let the rest of the 
universe alone for a spell. Mark the waves dash- 
ing against that rock, and count the strokes of the 
bell between the breakers. One — two — three! 
four ! There 's a wave ! I '11 hold her near as I 
dare. Now, again! — one — two — three! four! 
five ! — and there 's another ! Keep it up when 
we come back this time. If I don't know all the 
tricks of that bell, I don't know the tricks of my 
two-year-old Benny ! — and I know this : In every 
storm ever I was here in, two strokes to the wave is 
the best the old bell-buoy could do. I 've been doin' 
nothin' but count since we picked up that oar, and 
sure as we 're alive, boys, there 's a human fellow- 
creature that 's hammerin' for life on that bell ! " 

Ned and Jo, motionless and scarcely daring to 
breathe, listened to every word. Then Ned tore 
off his coat and boots. 

" Steady, boy ! " cried Grigg; " If you want to 
save that life, do as I bid ye ; and if ye move a 
finger, either of ye, I '11 turn the vessel, and run 




ye home ! " The captain's voice was rough and 
stern, for Jo's coat and boots were off, too. 

" Now,'' said Captain Hull more quietly, as 
they neared the bell again, " do you two boys 
blow the horn, and keep it up ; for if Grigg's 
words are true, the sound of it '11 carry hope 
to ears that '11 nigh crack with listenin'." 

But neither of the boys heard the last sentence 
for the noise Jo was making with the horn. Then 
every ear listened and every face broke into a 
wonderful gleam of joy as the answer came in 
quick, successive strokes from the bell. Jo sent 
back a deafening blast, and then came another 
answer, — fainter now, for they had steered away 
again. Half an hour they worked, until there 
came a loud ring almost at their ears ; but the 
fog was so thick they could not see the buoy clearly. 

"Down with the sail ! Drop anchor ! " shouted 
Grigg, and in a moment the vessel lay compara- 
tively still. 

'■ And now it 's my turn ! " said Ned Hooper, 
already with a rope around his body. Nobody 
could control him then. 

" Hold on to the other end of the rope, Jo, and 
when I pull it, haul us in," he said. Then Jo 
gave a cry, for Ned was overboard. There were 

"Hold on to the boy, Cephas!" he cried. 
" He '11 go if ye don't, and he has n't the build 

of the other one. Haul, if " He ended in a 

cry, for there came a clanging from the bell. 

Then they worked with a will. The horn and 
bell answered each other, the signal came, and all 
hands pulled together. 

It was only a moment now before they had hold 
of Ned, and were lifting into the boat the uncon- 
scious form of Russell. 

It was some time before Ned could speak, and 
the hand which held Russell's was very limp. 
Then he stammered : " He 's only fainted — only 
fainted. He spoke to me at the bell and said — 
he said '' 

"O Ned," cried Jo, " how you shiver! Don't 
try to tell us anything, dear fellow ! Only swallow 
this " 

But Ned put it away, and, shaking violently, 
gasped, "No — no! I say it. He said — I 

asked him to, before — before I pulled the rope. 

He said he forgave and . Tell the others, Jo — 

and " 

But Ned sank down, throwing his arm over Rus- 
sell's neck, and both were quite unconscious now. 
It was fully three weeks afterward that the 


a few moments — they seemed hours — while they boys were all together at the cliff again ; Russell in 
leaned over the vessel in suspense. the hammock which Jo had swung for him. 

Then Grigg quickly made ready to follow Ned. " So you insist upon 'Rusty,' do you, old chap?" 


THE bell-buoy's STORY. 

said Ned. " And it is n't suggestive of anytliing 
disagreeable ? " 

" Not a bit, Cap'n," answered Russell, brightly. 
" And I 'II take my affidavit to it, if it '11 make you 
any easier. It 's a great deal more spicy than 
'Russell.' I like it." 

" 'Rusty' it is, and 'Rusty' it shall be, then," 
said Ned. "Only if it gets you into trouble next 
winter, when you 're a ' Fresh ' at Harvard " 

" I 'm not a bit worried," said Russell ; " I '11 
risk anything that brings me. And, oh ! " he cried, 

sitting up so suddenly in the hammock that he 
jostled the baby-squirrels in their nest on the 
limb of the tree, overhead, "it will be so grand to 
be there, getting a real college education, and to 
think that I owe it all to your having called me 
' Rusty ' in the beginning, that the sound of the 
name will be something like a jubilee chorus to 
me all my life ! " 

" I say, fellows," he added, dropping back in 
the hammock again, " don't think that 's senti- 
mental ' blow,' will you ? " 

\{ IS no{ cilone clreaclfLLl morning batfi 
TKat flits tKis hierogf^pKic with AA/m-th ■ 
His complacent Brother's jeers 

Start those two resentful tears,— 

But behold ! tfie Zather com&ih ^/vith a tath. 


By Uora Read Goodale. 

Look ! the valleys are thick with grain 

Heavy and tall ; 
Peaches drop in the grassy lane 

By the orchard wall ; 
Apples, streaked with a crimson stain, 

Bask in the sunshine, warm and bright : 
Hark to the quail that pipes for rain — 

Bob White ! Bob White ! 
Augur of mischief, pipes for rain — 
Bob White ! 

Men who reap on the fruitful plain 

Skirting the town, 
Lift their eyes to the shifting vane 

As the sun goes down ; 
Slowly the farmer's loaded wain 

Climbs the slope in the failing light, — 
Bold is the voice that pipes for rain — 

Bob White! Bob White! 
Still from the hillside, pipes for rain — 

Bob White ! 

Lo, a burst at the darkened pane. 

Angry and loud ! 
Waters murmur and winds complain 

To the rolling cloud ; 
Housed at the farm, the careless swain. 

Weaving snares while the fire burns bright. 
Tunes his lips to the old refrain — 
Bob White! Bob White ! 
Oh, the sound of the blithe refrain — 
Bob White ! 


By John Burroughs. 

I READ a statement in this magazine not long 
ago, about the spiders' webs that cover the fields 
and meadows on certain mornings in the summer, 
which was not entirely exact. It is not quite true, 
in the sense in which it was uttered, that these 
spiders' webs are more abundant on some morn- 
ings than on others, and that they presage fair 
weather. Now the truth is, that during the latter 
half of summer these webs are about as abundant 
at one time as at another ; but they are much 
more noticeable on some mornings than on 
others, — a heavy dew brings them to view. They 
are especially conspicuous after a morning of fog, 
such as often fills our deeper valleys for a few 
hours when fall approaches. They then look like 
little napkins spread all over the meadows ; 1 
saw fields last summer in August, when one 
could step from one of these dew-napkins to 
another, for long distances. They are little nets 
that catch the fog. Every thread is strung with 
innumerable, fine drops, like tiny beads. After an 
hour of sunshine the webs, apparently, are gone. 

Most country people, I find, think they are due 

to nothing but the moisture ; others seem to think 
that the spiders take them in as morning ad- 
vances. But they are still there, stretched above 
the grass at noon and at sunset, as abundant as 
they were at sunrise; and are then more serviceable 
to the spiders, because less visible. The flies and 
other insects, if any were stirring, would avoid 
them in the morning, but at midday they do not 
detect them so readily. 

If these webs have any significance as signs of 
the coming weather this may be the explanation : 

A heavy dew occurs under a clear, cool sky, and 
the night preceding a day of rain is usually a dew- 
less night. Much dew, then, means fair weather, 
and a copious dew discloses the spiders' webs. It is 
the dew that is significant, and not the webs. 

We all need to be on our guard against hasty 
observations and rash conclusions. Look again, 
and think again, before you make up your mind. 

One day, while walking in the woods, I heard a 
sound which I was at once half persuaded to be- 
lieve was the warning of a coiled rattlesnake ; it 
was a swift, buzzing rattle, and but a few yards 





from me. Cautiously approaching, I saw the head 
and neck of a snake. Earlier in my life I should 
have needed no further proof, and probably should 
have fled with the full conviction that I had seen 
and heard the dreaded rattlesnake. But as I have 
grown older, I have grown more wary about jump- 
ing to conclusions — even where jumping serpents 
are concerned. I looked again, and again, and 
drew nearer the rattler at each glance. Soon I 
saw that it was only a harmless black snake shak- 
ing his tail at me. Was he trying to imitate the 
rattlesnake? I only know that there he lay, with 
his tail swiftly vibrating in contact with a dry leaf 
The leaf gave forth a loud, sharp, humming rattle. 
The motive or instinct that prompted the snake 
to do this seemed a suggestion or a prophecy of 
the threat of the rattlesnake. It evidently was done 
on account of my presence, probably as a warning 
note. Since then I have seen a small garter-snake 
do the same thing. He was found in the oat-bin. 
How he got there is a mystery ; but there he was, 
and when I teased him with a stick he paused and 
vibrated the end of his tail so rapidly that, in con- 
tact with the oats, it gave out a sharp buzzing 
sound. He, also, was an incipient rattlesnake. 
Such facts were of great interest to Darwin, as 
showing marked traits of one species cropping out, 
casually or tentatively, in another. 

In line with these is another observation which 
I made two summers ago, and was enabled to 
confirm last summer. Our bluebird is no doubt 
a modified thrush ; that is, its ancestor in the 
remote past was doubtless of the thrush family. 
One evidence of this is the fact that the young of 
the bluebird has a speckled breast like the thrush ; 
and Darwin established the principle that peculiar 
markings or traits confined to the youth of any 
species are an inheritance from early progenitors. 
In addition to this, I have noted in the song of the 
female bluebird — one of a pair that for two seasons 
have built near me — a distinct note of the thrush. 
Whenever I hear the voice of this bird it reminds 
me of that of a certain thrush — the olive-backed. 

But I am wandering far from my subject. I set 
out to talk about spiders. Do you know that we 
have a spider called the wolf-spider, and one that 
well deserves the name, so fierce and savage is he ? 
He is a webless spider, that prowls about seeking 
whom he may devour. I had not seen one since 
boyhood till the other day, when I met one in the 
path between the house and the study. He was so 
large and black, and was marching along so boldly, 
sustained upon his eight long legs, that he attracted 
my attention at once. I poked at him with the 
toe of my shoe, when he boldly charged me, and 
tried to run up my leg. This deepened my in- 
terest in him, and I bent down to him and chal- 

lenged him with a lead-pencil. At first he tried 
to escape into the grass, but, being headed off, he 
faced me in an attitude of defense. He reared up 
like a wild animal, his forward legs in the air, his 
row of minute eyes glistening, and his huge fangs, 
with their sharp hooks, slightly parted, ready to 
seize me. As I teased him with the pencil, he tried 
to parry my thrusts with his arms, like a boxer, 
till he saw his opportunity, when he sprang fiercely 
upon the pencil, and, closing his fangs upon it, 
allowed himself to be lifted from the ground. 
When he had let go, two minute drops of moisture 
were visible where the fangs had touched the 
polished surface of the pencil. This was the poison 
they had secreted, and would probably make his 
bite very dangerous. After he had discharged his 
wrath and his venom in this way, once or twice, 
he grew reluctant to repeat the operation, just as 
a venomous snake does. His valor seemed to sub- 
side as his supply of venom diminished. Finally, 
he would not bite at all, but held up his arms 
or legs simply on the defensive. His fangs were 
two thick weapons, surmounted by two small black 
hooks, probably a sixteenth of an inch long. They 
were very formidable in appearance. The spider 
himself was an inch and a half in length, black 
and velvety ; and, with his eight prominent legs all 
in motion, was striking to look upon. I captured 
him and kept him a prisoner for a few days in a 
box with a glass cover. We put large flies in his 
cage which he would not touch while we were 
present, but in the morning only empty shells of 
flies remained. Then we put in wasps, and to these 
he seemed to have a great antipathy. He prob- 
ably knew that they also had venom, and knew 
how to use it. When the wasps buzzed about 
seeking to escape, he would shove up a wall of 
cotton (for there was cotton in the box) between 
himself and them. In the morning the wasps were 
always dead, but not devoured. We also put in 
grasshoppers, and their kicking much annoyed the 
spider, but he would not eat them. In one respect 
he showed much more wit than the insects which 
we placed in his cage ; they labored incessantly to 
escape through the glass ; but, after two or three 
attempts to get out, he made up his mind that that 
course was useless ; he was capable of being con- 
vinced, while the flies and bees were not. But 
when the glass was removed and he felt himself in 
the open air once more, with what haste he scam- 
pered away ! He fled like a liberated wolf, indeed, 
and struggled hard against recapture. When 
we gave him his freedom, for good and all, he 
rushed off into the grass and was soon lost to 

Next in interest to the wolf-spider is the sand- 
spider, which you may have observed in the sand 



upon the sea-coast. They sink deep wells into the 
sand, and lay in wait for their prey at the bottom. 
When you are upon the Jersey beach, notice these 
little holes in the sand among the coarse, scattered, 
wild grass. Insert a straw or a twig into one of 
them and then dig downward, following this as a 
guide. A foot or more below the surface you will 
unearth this large, gray sand-spider, and with a 
magnifying-glass you can see how fiercely his eight 

eyes glare upon you. Try also to force a cricket 
into one of these holes and see how loth it will 
seem to go in. 

One's powers of observation may be cultivated 
by noting all these things, and the pleasure which 
one gets from a walk or from a vacation in the 
country is thereby greatly increased. Nothing is 
beneath notice, and the closer we look the more 
we shall learn about the ways and doings of Nature. 


By Colonel Guido Ilges. 

"Little Moccasin " was, at the time we speak 
of, fourteen years old, and about as mischievous 
a boy as could be found anywhere in the Big 
Horn mountains. Unlike his comrades of the 
same age, who had already killed buffaloes and 
stolen horses from the white men and the Crow 
Indians, with whom Moccasin's tribe, the Un- 
capapas, were at war, he preferred to lie under a 
shady tree in the summer, or around the camp-fire 
in winter, listening to the conversation of the old 
men and women, instead of going upon expeditions 
with the warriors and the hunters. 

The Uncapapas are a very powerful and numer- 
ous tribe of the great Sioux Nation, and before 
Uncle Sam's soldiers captured and removed them, 
and before the Northern Pacific Railroad entered 
the territory of Montana, they occupied the beauti- 
ful valleys of the Rosebud, Big and Little Horn, 
Powder and Redstone rivers, all of which empty 
into the grand Yellowstone Valley. In those days, 
before the white man had set foot upon these 
grounds, there was plenty of game, such as buffalo, 
elk, antelope, deer, and bear ; and, as the Un- 
capapas were great hunters and good shots, the 
camp of Indians to which Little Moccasin belonged 
always had plenty of meat to cat and plenty of 
robes and hides to sell and trade for horses and 
guns, for powder and ball, for sugar and coffee. 

and for paint and flour. Little Moccasin showed 
more appetite than any other Indian in camp. 
In fact, he was always hungry, and used to eat at 
all hours, day and night. Buffalo meat he liked 
the best, particularly the part taken from the 
hump, which is so tender that it almost melts in 
the mouth. 

When Indian boys have had a hearty dinner of 
good meat, they generally feel very happy and very 
lively. When hungry, they are sad and dull. 

This was probably the reason why Little Moc- 
casin was always so full of mischief, and always 
inventing tricks to play upon the other boys. He 
was a precocious and observing youngster, full of 
quaint and original ideas — never at a loss for 

But he was once made to feel very sorry for 
having played a trick, and 1 must tell my young 
readers how it happened. 

" Running Antelope," one of the great warriors 
and the most noted orator of the tribe, had re- 
turned from a hunt, and Mrs. Antelope was frying 
for him a nice buffalo steak — about as large as 
two big fists — over the coals. Little Moccasin, 
v;ho lived in the next street of tents, smelled the 
feast, and concluded that he would have some of 
it. In the darkness of the night he slowly and 
carefully crawled toward the spot, where Mistress 




Antelope sat holding in one hand a long stick, at 
the end of which the steak was frying. Little 
Moccasin watched her closely, and, seeing that she 
frequently placed her other hand upon the ground 
beside her and leaned upon it for support, he soon 
formed a plan for making her drop the steak. 

He had once or twice in his life seen a pin, but 
he had never owned one, and he could not have 
known what use is sometimes made of them by 
bad white boys. He had noticed, however, that 
some of the leaves of the larger varieties of the 
prickly-pear cactus-plant are covered with many 
thorns, as long and as sharp as an ordinary pin. 

So when Mrs. Antelope again sat down and 
looked at the meat to see if it was done, he slyly 
placed half-a-dozcn of the cactus leaves upon the 
very spot of ground upon which Mrs. Antelope 
had before rested her left hand. 

Then the young mischief crawled noiselessly 
into the shade and waited for his opportunity, 
which came immediately. 

When the unsuspecting Mrs. Antelope again 
leaned upon the ground, and felt the sharp points 
of the cactus leaves, she uttered a scream, and 
dropped from her other hand the stick and the 
steak, thinking only of relief from the sharp pain. 

Then, on the instant, the young rascal seized the 
stick and tried to run away with it. But Run- 
ning Antelope caught him by his long hair, and 
gave him a severe whipping, declaring that he 
was a good-for-nothing boy, and calling him a 
" coffee-cooler" and a "squaw." 

The other boys, hearing the rumpus, came run- 
ning up to see the fun, and they laughed and 
danced over poor Little Moccasin's distress. Often 
afterwards they called him " coffee-cooler " ; which 
meant that he was cowardly and faint-hearted, and 
that he preferred staying in camp around the fire, 
drinking coffee, to taking part in the manly sports 
of hunting and stealing expeditions. 

The night after the whipping. Little Moccasin 
could not sleep. The disgrace of the whipping 
and the name applied to him were too much for 
his vanity. He even lost his appetite, and refused 
some very nice prairie-dog stew which his mother 
offered him. 

He was thinking of something else. He must 
do something brave — perform some great deed 
which no other Indian had ever performed — in 
order to remove this stain upon his character. 

But what should it be? Should he go out alone 
and kill a bear? He had never fired a gun, and 
was afraid that the bear might eat him. Should 
he attack the Crow camp single-handed ? No, 
no — not he; they would catch him and scalp 
him alive. 

All night long he was thinking and planning; 

but when daylight came, he had reached no con- 
clusion. He must wait for the Great Spirit to 
give him some ideas. 

During the following day he refused all food 
and kept drawing his belt tighter and tighter 
around his waist every hour, till, by evening, he 
had reached the last notch. This method of 
appeasing the pangs of hunger, adopted by the 
Indians when they have nothing to eat, is said 
to be very eftective. 

In a week's time Little Moccasin had grown 
almost as thin as a bean-pole, but no inspiration had 
yet revealed what he could do to redeem himself. 

About this time a roving band of Cheyennes, 
who had been down to the mouth of the Little 
Missouri, and beyond, entered the camp upon a 
friendly visit. Feasting and dancing were kept up 
day and night, in honor of the guests ; but Little 
Moccasin lay hidden in the woods nearly all the 

During the night of the second day of their stay, 
he quietly stole to the rear of the great council- 
tcpcc, to listen to the pow-wow then going on. 
Perhaps he would there learn some words of wis- 
dom which would give him an idea how to carry 
out his great undertaking. 

After " Black Catfish," the great Cheyenne 
warrior, had related in the flowery language of his 
tribe some reminiscences of his many fights and 
brave deeds, " Strong Heart" spoke. Then there 
was silence for many minutes, during which the 
pipe of peace made the rounds, each warrior tak- 
ing two or three puffs, blowing the smoke through 
the nose, pointing toward heaven and then hand- 
ing the pipe to his left-hand neighbor. 

" Strong Heart," "Crazy Dog," " Bow-String," 
" Dog-Fox," and " Smooth Elkhorn" spoke of the 
country they had just passed through. 

Then again the pipe of peace was handed round, 
amid profound silence. 

" Black Pipe," who was bent and withered with 
the wear and exposure of seventy-nine winters, 
and who trembled like some leafless tree shaken 
by the wind, but who was sound in mind and 
memory, then told the Uncapapas, for the first 
time, of the approach of a great number of white 
men, who were measuring the ground with long 
chains, and who were being followed by "Thun- 
dering Horses," and " Houses on Wheels." (He 
was referring to the surveying parties of the 
Northern Pacific Railway Company, who were just 
then at work on the crossing of the Little Missouri.) 

With heart beating wildly. Little Moccasin lis- 
tened to this strange story and then retired to his 
own blankets in his father's tepee. 

Now he had found the opportunity he so long had 
sought ! He would go across the mountains, all 




by himself, look at the thundering horses and the 
houses on wheels. He then would know more than 
any one in the tribe, and return to the camp, — a 
hero ! 

At early morn, having provided himself with a 
bow and a quiver full of arrows, without informing 
any one of his plan he stole out of camp, and, run- 
ning at full speed, crossed the nearest mountain to 
the East. 

Allowing himself little time for rest, pushing 
forward by day and night, and after fording many 
of the smaller mountain-streams, on the evening 
of the third day of his travel he came upon what 
he believed to be a well-traveled road. But — how 
strange ! — there were two endless iron rails lying 
side by side upon the ground. Such a curious 
sight he had never beheld. There were also large 
poles, with glass caps, and connected by wire, 
standing along the roadside. What could all this 
mean ? 

Poor Little Moccasin's brain became so bewil- 
dered that he hardly noticed the approach of a 
freight-train drawn by the " Thundering Horse." 

There was a shrill, long-drawn whistle, and im- 
mense clouds of black smoke ; and the Thunder- 
ing Horse was sniffing and snorting at a great rate, 
emitting from its nostrils large streams of steam- 
ing vapor. Besides all this, the earth, in the 
neighborhood of where Little Moccasin stood, 
shook and trembled as if in great fear ; and to him 
the terrible noises the horse made were perfectly 

Gradually the snorts, and the puffing, and the 
terrible noise lessened, until, all at once, they en- 
tirely ceased. The train had come to a stand-still 
at a watering tank, where the Thundering Horse 
was given its drink. 

The rear car, or " House on Wheels," as old 
Black Pipe had called it, stood in close proximity 
to Little Moccasin, — -who, in his bewilderment 
and fright at the sight of these strange moving 
houses, had been unable to move a step. 

But as no harm had come to him from the terri- 
ble monster. Moccasin's heart, which had sunk 
down to the region of his toes, began to rise again ; 
and the curiosity inherent in every Indian boy 
mastered fear. 

He moved up, and down, and around the great 
House on Wheels; then he touched it in many 
places, first with the tip-end of one finger, and 
finally with both hands. If he could only detach 
a small piece from the house to take back to camp 
with him as a trophy and as a proof of his daring 
achievement ! But it was too solid, and all made 
of heavy wood and iron. 

At the rear end of the train there was a ladder, 
which the now brave Little Moccasin ascended 

with the quickness of a squirrel to see what there 
was on top. 

It was gradually growing dark, and suddenly 
he saw (as he really believed) the full moon ap- 
proaching him. He did not know that it was 
the headlight of a locomotive coming from the 
opposite direction. 

Absorbed in this new and glorious sight, he did 
not notice the starting of his own car, until it was 
too late, for, while the car moved, he dared not let 
go his hold upon the brake-wheel. 

There he was, being carried with lightning speed 
into a far-off, unknown country, over bridges, by 
the sides of deep ravines, and along the slopes 
of steep mountains. 

But the Thundering Horse never tired nor grew 
thirsty again during the entire night. 

At last, soon after the break of day, there came 
the same shrill whistle which had frightened him 
so much on the previous day ; and, soon after, the 
train stopped at Miles City. 

But, unfortunately for our little hero, there were 
a great many white people in sight ; and he was 
compelled to lie flat upon the roof of his car, in 
order to escape notice. He had heard so much of 
the cruelty of the white men that he dared not 
trust himself among them. 

Soon they started again, and Little Moccasin 
was compelled to proceed on his involuntary jour- 
ney, which took him away from home and into 
unknown dangers. 

At noon, the cars stopped on the open prairie to 
let Thundering Horse drink again. Quickly, and 
without being detected by any of the trainmen, he 
dropped to the ground from his high and perilous 
position. Then the train left him — all alone in 
an unknown country. 

Alone ? Not exactly ; for, within a few minutes, 
half-a-dozen Crow Indians, mounted on swift 
ponies, are by his side, and are lashing him with 
whips and lassoes. 

He has fallen into the hands of the deadliest 
enemies of his tribe, and has been recognized by 
the cut of his hair and the shape of his moccasins. 

When they tired of their sport in beating poor 
Little Moccasin so cruelly, they dismounted and 
tied his hands behind his back. 

Then they sat down upon the ground to have a 
smoke and to deliberate about the treatment of 
the captive. 

During the very severe whipping, and while they 
were tying his hands, though it gave him great 
pain. Little Moccasin never uttered a groan. In- 
dian-like, he had made up his mind to "die game," 
and not to give his enemies the satisfaction of 
gloating over his sufferings. This, as will be 
seen, saved his life. 



The leader of the Crows, "Iron Bull," was in 
favor of burning the hated Uncapapa at a stake, 
then and there; but "Spotted Eagle," "Blind 
Owl," and "Hungry Wolf" called attention to 
the youth and bravery of the captive, who had 
endured the lashing without any sign of fear. 
Then the two other Crows took the same view. 
This decided poor Moccasin's fate ; and he under- 
stood it all, although he did not speak the Crow 
language, for he was a great sign-talker, and had 
watched them very closely during their council. 

Blind Owl, who seemed the most kind-hearted 
of the party, lifted the boy upon his pony. Blind 
Owl himself getting up in front, and they rode at 
full speed westward to their large encampment, 
where they arrived after sunset. 

Little Moccasin was then relieved of his bonds, 
which had benumbed his hands during the long 
ride, and a large dish of boiled meat was given 
to him. This, in his famished condition, he 
relished very much. An old squaw, one of the 
wives of Blind Owl, and a Sioux captive, took pity 
on him, and gave him a warm place with plenty 
of blankets in her own iepec, where he enjoyed a 
good rest. 

During his stay with the Crows, Little Moccasin 
was made to do the work, which usually falls to 
the lot of the squaws ; and which was imposed 
upon him as a punishment upon a brave enemy, 
designed to break his proud spirit. He was treated 
as a slave, made to haul wood and draw water, do 
the cooking, and clean game. Many of the Crow 
boys wanted to kill him, but his foster-mother, 
"Old Looking-Glass," protected him; and, be- 
sides, they feared that the soldiers of Fort Custer 
might hear of it, if he was killed, and punish them. 

Many weeks thus passed, and the poor little 
captive grew more despondent and weaker in body 
every day. Often his foster-mother would talk to 
him in his own language, and tell him to be of 
good cheer ; but he was terribly homesick and 
longed to get back to the mountains on the Rose- 
bud, to tell the story of his daring